Class 

Book. 

GojpghtH?- . 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT, 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



BY 

MILES HANSON 

Author of "The Power Behind," etc, 




THE BEACON PRESS 

25 Beacon Street 
BOSTON, MASS, 



Copyright, 1919 
Br The Beacon Press, Inc. 



All rights reserved 



JUL -5 1919 



©CI.A580089 



TO 



MY WIFE 

who 

for better, for worse, for richer, 
and for poorer, in sickness, 
and in health, as a loyal 
comrade has walked 
with me 
Out of Old Paths 



FOREWORD 



THE contents of this book were penned be- 
cause of several requests received by me 
whilst living in Ysleta and El Paso. 

The Southwest is in some respects isolated. 
There is a very attractive and vigorous life, but 
the centres of quiet and acknowledged scholarship 
are far removed. Whilst this is a loss, it is also 
a gain, for there needs must be independent think- 
ing, and often this thinking is on matters theo- 
logical. Many men and women reach their own 
conclusions, which conclusions are often very dif- 
ferent from those of the church in their old home 
town ; there thus follows a gradual and almost un- 
conscious separation from all organized forms of 
religion. It is surprising how many people one 
meets who have not been in a church for years. 

Gradually I got to know many such men and 
women, and when they felt that they knew me 
fairly well, they would say, " Yes ! we have 
thought like that, but how did you come to think 
so?" 

vii 



FOREWORD 



This question was so often repeated, that at 
last, I decided for my own pleasure to write what 
I could remember of my changes of belief. 

The story is of course commonplace, but it 
seems to have helped a little ; hence its appearance 
in print. The inward changes are, maybe, a little 
more interesting because of being accompanied 
with rather marked outward changes. It would 
be difficult to find greater contrasts than are pre- 
sented by the three churches in Manchester, Eng- 
land ; El Paso, Texas ; and Roxbury, Massa- 
chusetts. 

But, behind the outer differences, there is the 
same questioning and searching about the great 
features of life. Whether under Manchester fogs, 
in the Southwestern desert, or in one of the oldest 
Puritan churches, the same desires after life ex- 
planations are found. 

Herein are what explanations have appealed to 
me. Perhaps they may appeal to one or two 
others. 

In this foreword I wish to mention one of the 
advantages of ministerial life. The young men 
who are drawn to such a life know that they will 
meet difficulties, just as they would in any sphere, 
but they will have one great privilege and bless- 

viii 



FOREWORD 

ing, they will meet with fine men and women. In 
each of the churches with which I have had to 
work, I have met splendid men. In Leeds, Man- 
chester, El Paso, and Roxbury, it has been my 
great privilege to become intimate with noble co- 
workers. I am always thankful for their friend- 
ship ; I often feel that I am not worthy to be 
called their minister; but I am proud to be their 
friend. They have furnished me w r ith the greatest 
joys of the journey. 

M. H. 

Roxbury, Massachusetts. 



ix 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I Early Days in a Yorkshire Village . 1 

II College Days: The First Rebuff . 14 

III The First Parish: A Deacon Makes 

Charges 31 

IV The Discipline of Experience ... 45 
V A New Life in a Strange Land . . 57 

VI Ranching on the Edge of the Desert 69 

VII The Call Comes, and It Is Answered 83 

VIII Entering the Unitarian Fellowship: 

The Journey Thus Far .... 95 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



CHAPTER I 

EARLY DAYS IN A YORKSHIRE VILLAGE 

NEAR the centre of the West Riding of 
Yorkshire, there is a village which has been 
shaped successively by leisured wealth, handi- 
craft, and machinery. 

In this village, Gomersal, centuries ago, there 
were three beautiful Elizabethan houses, with 
long mullioned windows and pointed gables. 
These treasures stood in leafy groves, in their se- 
clusion seeming too sacred even for the gaze of 
passers-by. Their owners and occupants were 
addressed by the villagers with humble reverence. 
Later, a few plain sheds with a row of little 
windows at one side housed hand-looms that wove 
cloth which lasted and lasted for half a lifetime; 
after having served its original purpose it was 
cut into slips to serve another lifetime as a 
carpet. 

[i] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



Still later, four large mills with power-looms 
supplanted the hand-looms as well as the old 
human associations. 

During these latter days a chapel was built 
by the Congregationalists, oblong, unpreten- 
tious, and severe. It was furnished with square 
pews of varying size. The residents of the 
Elizabethan houses and the mill-owners sat in the 
corner pews. The mill-workers sat in the gal- 
lery. Even in meetings rich and poor rarely 
spoke to each other. 

The largest mill-owner was a man with a gruff 
voice, large, forbidding eyebrows, and very re- 
served mien. He was the superintendent of the 
Sunday-school. It was absolutely unthinkable 
that any child should ever be noisy or unruly un- 
der the eye of that man. The minister of the 
church was also a strong and reserved character, 
and the church affairs under the control of these 
two men moved serenely along in ever obedient and 
ordered fashion. 

The church was prosperous ; money was never 
really lacking; and the attendance at the various 
services was good. 

Few modern ideas ever invaded the village. 
The church activities always had the same fea- 



EARLY DAYS IN A YORKSHIRE VILLAGE 



tures : morning and afternoon Sunday-school, 
two services of worship, prayer meeting on 
Monday, week-night service on Wednesday, and 
occasionally a trustees' meeting on Friday. 
After this last the vestry always smelled of cigars, 
though if at any other time any one had 
suggested smoking on church premises, it would 
have seemed as if the whole of creation's schemes 
were being attacked, but wealthy mill-owners 
were exempt from the usual order of things. 

With the passing of the years, some innova- 
tions, it is true, did creep in, but they were all 
concerned with outer things and not with inner 
modes of thought. 

A young men's class in the Sunday-school grew 
strong, and, presided over by a young lawyer, son 
of one of the leading men of the district, studied 
" Paradise Lost " for half a year, to the great 
perturbation of the older teachers. Had it not 
been that social awe overshadowed theological 
fear, these innovations w r ould have been stopped. 

The interest in the class led to several develop- 
ments, among which was a literary society. This 
society became attractive to book-lovers and men 
who had theories political and social, and the min- 
ister of the church, a great reader, as president 

[3] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



of the meetings, gave added interest and much 
good was done. 

Opposite the church stood a very fine Mechan- 
ics' Institute, built by a local manufacturer who 
had the reputation of wide reading. The upper 
room was used by a day school, and two lower 
rooms housed a good library. 

The old square church in the grove and the 
Mechanics' Institute surrounded by a line of 
poplars were the centre of a quiet, unobtrusive, 
but happy life. 

Years came and went, and the only events that 
stand clear in memory are an especially exciting 
debate, a concert in the Institute, a lecture, and 
the anniversaries of the chapel and Sunday- 
school, Whitsuntide, and the annual meeting on 
the first Saturday of each year, at which the 
ministers of the neighboring churches always 
spoke. For this last event young men and 
women, sweethearts and would-be sweethearts, 
made decorations of greens, paper flowers, and 
mottoes, and it would be interesting if one could 
tell how many marriages were arranged during 
these decoration nights. 

No violent changes disturbed the life of the 
church. The trustees, deacons, superintendents, 

[4] 



EARLY DAYS IN A YORKSHIRE VILLAGE 



and teachers were elected virtually for life, and 
death or removals (very rare) were the only fac- 
tors that ever brought in new officers. 

It is sometimes said, " Happy is the nation 
that has no history." Probably it would be even 
truer to say " Happy and useful is the church 
that has no history." In these days we seem to 
think that noise-making is the sign of usefulness ! 
Well, it may be, but I have known churches that 
have made no noise for forty years and yet have 
done a wonderful work. The dew does not make 
much noise when it is falling. 

Whether the glimpses into the world of books, 
or whether the tremors caused by the halting 
speeches became the spurs of ambition, it is hard 
to say, but the young men began to migrate — 
five of them (amongst whom was the writer of 
these words) going away to college. 

I often look back on those seemingly far-off 
days, and try to summarize the thoughts, inten- 
tions, and ideals that were, or were not, the mov- 
ing or urging forces that impelled me towards 
the ministry. Very few of us seem to be able 
really to recall our younger days and earlier 
thoughts. We color both unconsciously by our 
later experiences ; present unhappiness makes 

[5] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



those early days seem wonderfully happy, diffi- 
culties make them seem easy and desirable, and 
deprivations make their possessions appear great 
and priceless. 

I first served my time as a pupil teacher in 
Gomersal, studying each evening after my work 
was done, for the annual " exams." Of these 
there were five. The school-master taught us in 
the mornings before school, so we had pretty 
long days. 

My home life was happy. My father was a 
reader and passionately fond of books. He 
wrote a good deal, and his happiest times were 
when he was alone reading and writing. When- 
ever he could he bought books and surreptitiously 
brought them into the house, for my mother, who 
was intensely practical, was a little inclined to 
consider money thus spent as foolishly misused. 
As a result of these purchases I had access to a 
good general library. All the better-known 
poets were on the shelves, many standard his- 
tories, and a good selection of novels. And now, 
after thirty years, I believe that I could go into 
the room in the dark, and pick out any book I 
wanted. 

I do not remember that my father ever spoke 
[6] 



EARLY DAYS IN A YORKSHIRE VILLAGE 



to me formally about religion, but his ways said 
much, and led me toward two of my greatest 
possessions — a love of books, and a love of the 
quiet country — a priceless gift. 

Each year, father, mother, and I would go for 
a walking tour amongst the Yorkshire dales. 
The time thus spent was unalloyed pleasure to us 
all, and stands out as one of the formative in- 
fluences of my life. We talked little, and never 
on the deeper personal religious experiences of 
life; but most of the later religious emotions of 
my being seem to be connected with the quiet 
country and my father. 

At the close of my pupil-teacher days I be- 
came an assistant master. It seems strange now 
that I never looked ahead to the changes which 
necessarily faced me. The managers of the 
school could not afford to pay the larger salary 
of an assistant, so I answered an advertisement 
for a position in Batley, a neighboring town of 
100,000 population, and obtained the post. I 
went proudly and confidently to my new work. 
Alas ! great disillusionment awaited me. The 
school from which I had come was well conducted, 
and the scholars never dreamt of rebellion. 
There were some noisy lads, of course, who re- 

[7] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



quired more attention than others, but of down- 
right disobedience there was none. 

In the new school, the first hour I taught, a 
lad threw a slate at my head, and all through 
the day I was as useless as a fish out of water. 
At night a crowd of boys followed me homeward, 
throwing stones. It was a rude shock, but, 
urged and compelled by my father, I stood my 
ground. The days were hateful, and I recall 
them now with disgust. 

These dark days were prophetic of change. I 
made up my mind then and there that, whatever 
else I might become, I would not spend my life 
as a teacher. Before these times of difficulty, I 
never thought of future days — I simply lived in 
the present; but stress sent my thoughts ahead, 
and I began to wonder how I should really like to 
spend my life. Just at this time the minister of 
the church asked me if I would care to be a min- 
ister, and his question seemed to open out a new 
way, so that I readily replied, " Yes." 

Never was a decision more thoughtlessly 
reached ! 

I cannot remember that I had any longings 
for what one may call Christian service. I do 
not know that I was altruistic. 

[8] 



EARLY DAYS IN A YORKSHIRE VILLAGE 



The minister was to me a great man. His life 
(I had only seen the life of a quiet, prosperous 
village church) was apparently an attractive 
one. I would be a minister. I had never done 
any real thinking about my mental or my spirit- 
ual position. I was just as my environment 
had moulded me. 

I was naturally of a quiet temperament. I 
had never seen any of the baser evils of life, and 
my career had rendered me unresponsive to such 
allurement. My home had always been a home 
of service. My father's official connection with 
the Sunday-school had lasted over fifty years, 
my five sisters had taught there, and one of 
them had a beautifully attractive character. 
She had a lasting influence upon me. It seemed 
perfectly natural that I should be a minister, al- 
though as I now look back I feel a certain shame 
over my method of entry into the work. 

I overheard my father say to a friend that I 
was doing just what he always wished I would; 
but my mother said, in her practical way, " You 
are only leaving young babies [meaning, of course, 
the school] to look after old ones." 

I now set myself to prepare for the college 
entrance examination. It was decided I should 

[9] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



go to Rotherham College, near Sheffield. In 
twelve months I went up to face the ordeal. The 
college buildings seemed to me, as I walked up the 
long drive, wonderfully grand. Directly in front 
of the drive stood the central tower, square and 
prominent, and at its base was an imposing door- 
way faced by a broad flight of stairs. I can 
still distinctly recall the tremblings with which 
I approached that door, and I remember the 
prayers I made that I might satisfy the exam- 
iners. I did pass, despite the fact that my Latin 
and Greek — for the learning of which there had 
been no opportunities in my village — were woe- 
fully weak. 

The candidates that were accepted at once set- 
tled down to work, and a new life commenced for 
me. 

I was thus started on the first stage of the way 
of the ministry, and my theological position (if 
I had one) was probably that of the majority of 
the young men of our churches. I had never 
seriously or deeply tackled any problem, and I 
held my creed or my creed held me, not doubting 
that all wise people believed as I thought that I 
did. 

Of course I had been taught that atheists dis- 
[10] 



EARLY DAYS IN A YORKSHIRE VILLAGE 



believed in God, that Unitarians disbelieved in 
Christ, and that the question as to whether we 
had free will or not was sometimes to be debated. 
But speaking broadly, I was sure that the over- 
whelming majority of sensible people believed as 
I did. 

My creed, if I had one, was somewhat as fol- 
lows : I , 

God : A great person, all-seeing and all-power- 
ful, pleased by attentions, and grieved by neglect. 
At the close of our life He would be a judge, and 
would carefully balance life's accounts and so de- 
cide the future's everlasting weal or woe. 

Jesus: One peculiar deity whose task was to 
undo the result of a primeval fall. 

Heaven : A purely materialistic place, a glori- 
fied city where all wants would be met, and all life 
lived to music. 

Hell: A huge furnace where all who were 
found wanting were made to burn forever. 

Prayer : Verbal requests for such things as 
one thought necessary. I well remember that in 
early childhood I was terribly frightened in a 
mad-dog scare, and as a result I prayed every 
night for years that none of our family should 
be bitten the next day by a mad dog. If I wanted 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



anything I prayed for it, and had no doubts when 
the answers did not materialize. If I did not re- 
ceive what I wished for, it was for the best. If 
what came did not turn out well, then I had asked 
amiss. 

The Bible: A unique book, differing in 
kind, not merely in degree, from other books. 
Where in any place it was said, God spake, I 
firmly believed that He used a human voice. I 
never noticed any contradictions, and if some 
things seemed strange, yet I felt that the strange- 
ness was in me and not in the book. I had no 
real knowledge of the book. I simply accepted 
it with thorough thoughtlessness. 

Life : I felt sure that the end of life was serv- 
ice, but I used such terms as " self-sacrifice," 
" self-denial," and " carrying the cross " without 
any real deep understanding of their significance. 
I was hypnotized by the words and thought hon- 
estly, if superficially, that my being at college was 
an act of noble self-sacrifice. 

One day the principal of the college astounded 
me by saying: "Self-sacrifice! Hm! We do 
not practise it. What sacrifice do you, or I, or 
any of us make? 99 

These words started me on my first real ques- 
[12] 



EARLY DAYS IN A YORKSHIRE VILLAGE 



tioning as to life's deeds and values, and I can 
safely say that ever since that day I have more 
carefully weighed my motives, and have never felt 
that I could boast much about self-denial. 

So I started my college career carrying my 
small life's portmanteau which my untested creed 
did not unduly bulge. 



[13] 



CHAPTER II 



COLLEGE DAYS: THE FIRST REBUFF 

HE first three years at Rotherham College 



X were the Arts years. These form what is 
called in this country the Academic course. The 
College was a theological institution, and only men 
preparing for the ministry were admitted. My 
earlier habits made reading and study compara- 
tively easy to me, and I know that I was proud to 
be one of two students to break the record in re- 
sults at the University. 

The three years were happy ones. On Sun- 
days now and then we preached in the little coun- 
try churches, and if at any time by chance we 
did very well we were " specially " asked to repeat 
the visit. These " specials " gave us great satis- 
faction. I must have done very moderately, for 
few " specials " came my way. 

I am not wide of the truth in saying that, apart 
from the pride in the " specials," the greatest re- 
ward for preaching was the fee received. My first 




[14] 



COLLEGE DAYS: THE FIRST REBUFF 



fee, which was half a crown, tided me over a period 
of severe financial stringency. 

We had to pay our own fares to the University, 
four-pence each way. At the end of the month 
the money was returned. Never was " the root 
of all evil " more of a Godsend than when we 
were reimbursed. 

The greatest worries of our Arts course were 
conducting, in turn, morning and evening prayers, 
and preaching, also in turn, in the sermon class, 
in which all students took part. 

I am sure that I did not come out very well 
in either of these tasks. On the week following 
my first attempt in the sermon class, a young 
man from London preached, and the principal in 
commenting on his pronunciation said, " Last 
week I thought we had gone as low as possible, 
but this week we have gone lower.' 5 

A criticism which the Doctor gave of my first 
sermon left its mark. I said quite confidently: 
" There are some things of which we are sure, and 
one of them is that we can choose our way; we 
have free will." The Doctor's criticism was: 
" We have free will? You are sure of it? Well, 
I have never been able to be sure of it." Thus 
my " suredness " received its first blow, and since 

[15] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



then blows have been constantly falling upon it, 
so that I can fully appreciate the saying of Mrs. 
Humphry Ward, " The day of certain men is 
passing." 

Certainty, assuredness, confidence and like qual- 
ities were once in great favor, but they are being 
supplanted by modesty and humility. More and 
more men are preferring a tentativeness born of 
wisdom to a dogmatism born of oratorical fervor. 

It is well that once in our lives we have a period 
of calm and joy. No problems really troubled 
me, no doubts disquieted, study was a pleasure, in 
every sense life was attractive; and if at times 
there came to our ears a distant rumbling from 
the storms of life, we did not become at all dis- 
quieted, for two factors soothed us : first, we did 
not really know the intensity of the storm, and, 
second, we were confident with the confidence of 
youth. 

It is well that in one period, we can only see 
one side of the coin, that not alone are we inca- 
pable of putting ourselves into the other man's 
place, but have the certainty that that other man's 
place is so utterly insecure that it is not worth 
while to try even to let a straying foot rest tem- 
porarily there. 

[16] 



COLLEGE DAYS : THE FIRST REBUFF 



Satisfaction with our intellectual conclusions 
gives a pleasing sense of confidence, which it is 
well at least once in our lifetime to possess. 

If we had not free will, what had we? I asked 
myself. If we could not choose, what was the 
use of life? Why urge any line of conduct if we 
could not select such line, but were totally in- 
fluenced in our choice by outside forces? 

Thus I asked myself the questions unconsciously 
which have ever been asked. 

Apart from the sermon class, the Arts course 
left little time and little stimulation for thinking. 
Our work for our classes done, the remaining time 
was given to general reading. 

Among ourselves, we discussed problems, most 
of which were economic, for at that time the In- 
dependent Labour party, of which Ben Tillet was 
the commanding figure, and the Fabian Society, 
composed mainly of radical university men, were 
writing freely and attracting attention. 

Quickly, only too quickly, the Arts course came 
to an end, and I passed on to the Theological 
curriculum. 

Here the students attended the classes of four 
professors. One course was on Calvin, who, I 
fear, never gripped us. At the close of one series, 

[17] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



we all answered the examiner's questions, not as 
Calvin answered them, but as we thought they 
ought to be answered. I am afraid that very 
small portions of Calvin's view were included in 
the returned papers. Commenting upon the sub- 
sequent report of the examiner, the principal, 
whose wisdom I more and more acknowledge, said 
with a quiet twinkle in his eyes, " Well, gentlemen, 
if you know more and are wiser than Calvin we 
must leave it at that." 

A discussion that once occurred on Cal- 
vin's view of the Atonement suggested a line of 
thinking that has ever been of help to me. The 
Doctor was emphasizing the need of an inter- 
mediary, so that the wrath of God could be ap- 
peased. The legal and the regal side of God de- 
manded it. After great emphasis had been laid 
on this, a student interrupted and said, " Doctor, 
in the story of the prodigal, the father needs no 
intermediary, but goes out of his way to make the 
returning boy feel welcome." 

The answer made was : — " The story of the 
prodigal is not to teach concerning the Atone- 
ment but to emphasize another phase of the Divine 
character." 

At that time, and I must confess also ever 
[18] 



COLLEGE DAYS : THE FIRST REBUFF 



since, I have been more attracted to the teaching 
of forgiveness presented by the word picture given 
by Jesus, than to that given by Calvin. 

The trend of our subsequent thoughts is often 
quite unconsciously directed, and what seems at 
the time an unimportant word or feeling remains 
for years and years as an influence in our thought 
world. 

All my subsequent thinking about the central 
Christian theme has ever been influenced by that 
morning's question and answer. Before that day 
I had accepted the commonly presented view of 
the Atonement; after that day I began to think 
out an explanation for myself. Thus I stepped 
unconsciously into the pathway leading to a real 
personal theology. 

A very small mound deflects the flow of a tiny 
mountain rivulet to the right or the left, to the 
east or to the west, and that deflection causes the 
water to enter the one or the other of two widely 
sundered oceans. 

One day, the accepted teaching presents itself 
before us with a definite statement. " Is it so? " 
whispers a still, small voice within, and whether 
we then accept the weight of assurance of the gen- 
eral belief, or still question in our mind, determines 

[19] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



our position in one or other of the great schools 
of thought. If " thus saith 99 is sufficient for us, 
then, whatever or wherever we may subsequently 
be, in whatsoever denomination we may be num- 
bered, we are " good Catholics," but if we seek 
the final approbation of our own reason we shall 
ever be heretical in the sense that we are not will- 
ing to yield to external authority. 

There are only two schools of theological 
thought ; the one gives obedience to some outer au- 
thority, the other to the inner voice. In all 
churches there are " catholics 99 and " heretics." 
The latter furnish the driving force, and the 
former are ever anxious about ballast. 

The second professor had charge of Christian 
Apologetics and Economics, the latter being at 
that time an innovation in a theological college. 
Unfortunately we received little help from the new 
venture. From the older subject the greatest 
benefit was derived from a careful study of " The 
Continuity of Christian Thought," by Prof. A. 
V. G. Allen of Cambridge, Mass. 

The third and fourth professors took respec- 
tively New and Old Testament Exegesis. Of the 
New Testament classes I have a pitiful memory. 
The lecturer lacked the power to vivify his sub- 

[20] 



COLLEGE DAYS : THE FIRST REBUFF 



ject, and what should have been the lives t class of 
the whole series was the deadest. What I know 
of the New Testament relative to modern criticism 
has been learned since college days. When I con- 
trast how we might have profited with what we 
really acquired, I always feel angry. 

Fortunately the Old Testament classes were as 
alive as the New Testament classes were dead. 
The old books became to me real, living narra- 
tives. For twenty-five years Old Testament work 
has had all the attraction of a hobby. I have 
not neglected the New Testament, and the critics' 
conclusions thereon, but my time has been given 
as a duty, whilst my attention to the Old Tes- 
tament has been a work of pleasure. 

Naturally, I gained most help in the Old Tes- 
tament classes. The professor, Dr. Duff, was, on 
occasion, fond of the startling. He would make a 
bald statement that not only arrested but some- 
times shocked and repelled his students and his 
brother-ministers. 

In a meeting of clergymen the Doctor was once 
speaking on the cry of Jesus, " My God, my God, 
why hast Thou forsaken me? 5 ' and abruptly, in 
his manner, he said, "Jesus was wrong, very 
wrong; God does not forsake." An elderlv 

[21] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



orthodox brother jumped up and, walking out of 
the room, cried, " I will not stay in any man's 
presence who says that Jesus was wrong! " 

But it was one of those startling sayings that 
set me out on what has proved a long and happy 
course of reading. I asked about the quotation 
in Genesis where God is made to say, " It re- 
penteth me that I have made man." The answer 
flung back was, " It's all nonsense ! " " But," I 
gasped, " God said it! " " All nonsense, just the 
same," came the staggering reply. My sense of 
propriety was outraged, and I certainly began to 
think. I know now that was what the Doctor 
wanted, but at the time it seemed as though the 
whole Bible were useless. 

How apt we all are to jump to sweeping con- 
clusions ! We hear a certain minor negation and 
draw a vast sweeping positive conclusion there- 
from. 

Alas ! so runs much of our logic ! Alas ! on such 
basis rests much of our theological hatred ! 

There is a type of mind and a condition of 
mind that can only make flying leaps. If John 
Smith, a professed Christian, is found wanting, 
Therefore all Christians are false. 

I was in such stage of thought, and reasoned: 
[22] 



COLLEGE DAYS : THE FIRST REBUFF 



If what God said were nonsense, then — and I 
drew some disquieting conclusions. 

I thought and thought and read, but what now 
seems so obvious was very slow in becoming clear 
to me. Here I was, on the threshold of Old Tes- 
tament criticism ! I had to walk through many 
rooms before I understood much. 

There are few studies that grate upon us as 
much as does Biblical criticism. It seems to take 
away all our childhood's intuitions. At first it 
seems to destroy all our certainties. At first it 
seems to shadow life's very fabric and by impair- 
ing the value of the Bible, to break up the very 
basis of morality. 

But all this destruction is only " at first " and 
only seeming, and will never appear when we teach 
the Bible properly in our Sunday schools and 
homes. If we only taught well there would be 
much less of unlearning. I had my destructive 
stage, and was given over to disbelief. Fortu- 
nately, this was not enough. I wanted a positive 
and reasonable religion. Slowly the constructive 
day dawned. Gradually I learned that the Bible 
grew, and was not miraculously created; that its 
pages contain the history of a people. The prog- 
ress of this people is recorded first in myth, then 

[S3] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



in collected legends, and then, after slow ages of 
changing habits, in authentic story. 

Our gods are the reflections of ourselves, and 
what we make our gods say to us is what we our- 
selves in our developing consciences say, and as 
we become more and more alive to the spiritual, 
the more spirit-filled or infused will be the voice 
that we recognize. 

I learnt slowly that the Old Testament says 
what the Hebrews said, and that the messages of 
their mind were very naturally made messages of 
their God. The Hebrews honestly thought that 
God said, " Kill every Man, Woman and Child," 
but now we recognize that though honest, they 
were mistaken, and Saul in his disobedience is 
grander than Samuel in his obedience. 

Our gods are the mouthpieces of our minds, and 
ever have been. The New England settlers 
thought that God said, " Persecute the Quakers 99 ; 
the Spaniards thought that God said, " Kill all 
non-Catholics," and many denominationalists to- 
day feel that it is their duty to thwart all other 
folds. 

Broadening faith cripples fanaticism. The 
wider our outlook the more we see room for dif- 
fering creeds. 

[34] 



COLLEGE DAYS: THE FIRST REBUFF 



I am intensely thankful for the three years of 
Old Testament study, and very appreciative of 
that word " nonsense." 

I often talked with my mother about my 
thoughts concerning the Bible. She was deeply 
troubled, and thought that I was leaving the 
narrow way. Later when I had the chance to 
continue my studies in a German university, hav- 
ing won a scholarship, she was so afraid of the 
result that she objected to my going. I respected 
her attitude. 

Owing to this objection the opportunity passed, 
and although I revere her memory and understand 
sympathetically her position, I have never ceased 
to regret the lost chance and feel that her posi- 
tion was an unwise one. 

It is very easy to gain applause by such say- 
ings as " What my Mother believed is good enough 
for me," but often the approval gained, and the 
search for it, are only the cover for a foolish fear 
and brain idleness. If we dissent from the intel- 
lectual conclusions of our parents because of 
changed premises, surely we do not infer discredit 
on those whom we love and from whom we have 
often gained the grandest treasures of our lives. 
Terah no doubt believed in human sacrifices, and 

[25] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



because Abraham learned a better way, surely he 
cannot be charged with unfilial conduct. 

Noble men and women believed that every word 
of the Bible was directly inspired, and we do not 
detract from their nobility when we hold that some 
Old Testament stories have little of inspiration 
in them for today. 

The principal of the college used to say that 
our views and beliefs were only in the nature of 
working hypotheses, and the last two years of 
college life gave me working hypotheses in the 
place of absolute certainties. Some timid souls 
will no doubt regard this as a poor result of col- 
lege education. 

I was once sure of free-will, but I lost that 
dead certainty. I was once sure that it was easy 
to tell what was right and what was wrong, but 
I learned that the distinction was not always 
clearly marked. I was once sure that the Bible 
was verbally inspired, but I learned that there was 
an education of the human race. Speaking gen- 
erally, I became less and less certain. 

Some will probably urge, " But, surely, college 
days are to teach certainties," and my reply to 
the objection is, "Not necessarily." The worst 
result of a college course would be the turning out 

[26] 



COLLEGE DAYS: THE FIRST REBUFF 



of men, " cocksure 99 young men, to use a common- 
place term. Conclusions are barriers placed 
athwart the way of further progress, and the real 
student is one who knows how to unlearn as well 
as to learn. 

College days came and went, and in their pass- 
ing I gained some knowledge of: (a) the position 
of the leading scholars as regards the Old Testa- 
ment; (6) the later criticism of the New Testa- 
ment; (c) the theology of the great teachers, like 
Calvin, Augustine, and the Deists; (d) the 
thought of modern scholars in the development of 
theology. Changes of belief came, of course, with 
the acquisition of knowledge. 

I purposely put the results vaguely, for on look- 
ing back I am sure that such a vague statement is 
the really true one. 

It is well, perhaps, after six years of student- 
life to contrast my position at the beginning of 
those years with that of their close, and so gain 
some clear idea of the changes that occurred. 
Changes in belief came with the gains in knowl- 
edge. 

I entered college believing that God was a sort 
of a personal ruler. I left college with similar 
thoughts, as I had not really deeply pondered. 

[27] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



Our thoughts of God, thoughts that shake our 
very being, only come, I believe, through a great 
life-convulsion. When a tragedy shakes our very 
being, then, and only then, do we truly grapple 
with the fundamental question of life. Jacob 
wrestled with God when his whole life's past stood 
gaunt and naked before him, and when his whole 
life's efforts seemed likely to be lost and useless. 

No tragedy came to me, and no deep thoughts 
of life's fundamental beliefs perturbed me. I ac- 
cepted what my life's environment had led me to 
believe; the primary foundation had never been 
disturbed. 

In secondary beliefs it was somewhat different. 
In the earlier days I believed that man was created 
perfect, that he fell, that God was angry, and that 
the death of Jesus appeased the anger. Later 
I was not sure as to man's early infancy. I was 
convinced that God was not angrily separated 
from him, but rather loved him, and the pres- 
ence of Jesus was a testimony of that fact. 

In the earlier days I believed with my whole 
being in the miraculous associated with the life of 
Jesus, — the Virgin Birth, the nature miracles, 
and the miracle of the physical resurrection. 

[28] 



COLLEGE DAYS: THE FIRST REBUFF 



Later, I was uncertain. I used theological lan- 
guage that implied belief, but in my heart of hearts 
there was no settled conviction. 

In the earlier days I believed that every word 
of the Bible had come in some miraculous way 
from God. Later, I looked upon the Bible as a 
library of books, which were written by men of 
various stages of intellectual, moral, and spiritual 
development. The reading of the Book was like 
tramping along a road bordered here and there 
with barren stretches, here and there with ugly 
wastes, and here and there with verdant fields and 
rich pastures. 

In my personal life there was also change. In- 
stead of pride in the position of minister, I gained 
the idea of service. I slowly learned that I was 
to serve and not be served. This progress largely 
came from the contact with the men around me. 
The outstanding feature of college days is the 
contact of man with man. The above changes 
seem to be the clearest marks of college days, and 
now, after twenty further years, I should say 
that the greatest benefit derived therefrom was 
the acquirement of tendencies. One cannot over- 
value purely scholastic acquirements, but a man 

[29] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



has had a good college career who has gained a 
student habit, a real student's humility, a quiet 
reverence, and self-subordination. 

One who leaves college proud of anything is a 
dead failure. If he be proud of intellectual at- 
tainments, he is unconscious of wide horizons ; and 
if he be really developed in character he will be 
unconscious of such development and therefore 
will never dream of being proud of it. 

The last few months of college life are some- 
what anxious ones, for the question presents it- 
self as to whether a " call " will be received or not. 
Candidating is not a very pleasant experience, 
and fortunately I had not much of it, for three 
months before the close of the year, the church 
at Wortley asked me to become its minister, and in 
1892 I entered upon the work for which I had 
been preparing; and I was destined to learn and 
unlearn in a new college, — the school of experi- 
ence. 



[30] 



CHAPTER III 



THE FIRST PARISH : A DEACON MAKES CHARGES 

THERE is no need to dwell on the external 
aspects of the work at Wortley. I suppose 
that I had the average amount of success, and the 
average number of happy days and sorrowful 
ones. 

When we look back through many years to take 
stock we find that our estimates of values are 
strangely altered; later perspective queerly 
changes respective sizes. What at the time 
seemed important seems somehow to dwindle into 
insignificance ; successes which at that time seemed 
wonderful appear almost trivial — amusingly 
trivial; and, on the contrary, what seemed com- 
monplace, or passed over unnoticed, takes on 
strange prominence. Of deeds and experiences 
history makes strange reversals, and the first be- 
comes the last and the last first. 

Now on retrospection, it seems to me that the 
two influences that exercise most effect upon me 

[31] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



were two which, at that time, did not seem to be 
important parts of my work. One was the Min- 
isters' Fraternal, and the other a fairly exhaustive 
reading of old legends. 

There were a good number of children in the 
morning services, and I felt that I must give them 
some interest in the worship. It is not easy, as 
all know who have tried, to find a children's ad- 
dress for each Sunday. 

I gave all the suitable Bible stories I could find, 
and then was obliged to go further afield. Haw- 
thorne's setting of the legends in " Twice-Told 
Tales " proved a Godsend, and they also served 
as a pointer to similar sources. I gathered all 
the myths I could from Roman, Greek, Norse, In- 
dian, and Asiatic story. I do not know how much 
help the little folk gained, but I do know that I 
gained help. You cannot try to teach without 
being taught, and slowly I began to perceive a 
common ground in all the stories. All the 
myths and legends became attempts to explain the 
same deep foundation-facts, and all were varia- 
tions of one central theme. The parents certainly 
liked the stories, and I suppose the children also 
did. 

I discovered miraculous-birth stories in all coun- 
ts] 



THE FIRST PARISH 



tries and religions. The supremely great of all 
races, I found, were accounted for by extraor- 
dinary birth. Virgins were the mothers of heroes. 
It was likewise with resurrection stories. The 
wonderful person could not be allowed to pass out 
of existence. He must continue his greatness 
somewhere. These recurrences set me thinking. 
Without any hesitation I disbelieved the birth- 
stories in non-Christian religions. Gradually I 
asked myself, Why do I differentiate? 

One is naturally unwilling to let go of old be- 
lief, and for many months I read and read and 
pondered. We do not doubt and discard easily ; 
it is an error to suppose that men and women, if 
they are in earnest, put aside the old for the fun 
of it. The task is irksome, and the discarding 
is doubly hard for a minister, for during all 
the time that he is pondering, he is supposed 
to be preaching dead certainties. Of course 
he does not take his uncertainties into the pul- 
pit, but all the same he cannot put them out of 
mind. 

I remember that when I was passing through 
the most difficult days I paid a visit to a well 
known minister who had trodden the same way, 
and I said to him, " How did you preach when you 

[33] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



were so uncertain?" He replied, "In my most 
uncertain days, I preached the morality of which 
I had no doubt." 

My examination of the Gospel stories, and my 
reading of the parallel stories in other religions, at 
last made me reluctantly put aside the miraculous 
birth, and slowly, afterwards, the miraculous in 
both the Old and the New Testaments. But, and 
here the comparative study of myths came in as 
a direct help, I fixed my mind on the thoughts 
that the miracles were intended to teach. I 
looked at the truth of ideal instead of the truth of 
fact, and a splendid helpfulness shone from the 
old stories. It is a great mistake to think that 
the value of a story goes when it is no longer re- 
garded as an account of an actual occurrence. 
Legends are sure delineators of the characters of 
the people amongst which they arose, and stories 
that cluster around characters are largely por- 
traits of their heroes. I look at a great moun- 
tain through the morning mists — I cannot 
clearly trace the outline — but the majesty is in- 
tensified by the vagueness. I look at an old hero 
through the myths of bygone days — I cannot 
clearly trace his life — but the marvelous stories 
indicate his powerful personality. Truth of 

[34] 



THE FIRST PARISH 



ideal has its place as well as truth of fact and by 
no means disappears with the latter. 

Other claims urged themselves upon me. I 
turned to astronomy and geology to provide me 
with children's addresses. I attempted to give 
the children some idea of geological time. The 
Hebrew chronology of the age of the earth in 
thousands of years was supplanted by that of 
science in millions. The simple conception of 
creation was put aside in favor of one prolonged 
evolutionary process. These displacements af- 
fected, of course, the beliefs concerning Jesus. 

If we disbelieve in the Genesis story, we cannot 
accept the orthodox theory of the Atonement. If 
man did not fall, man did not need in the old 
sense the reconciling of God through man. We 
cannot vaguely accept the Miltonic story, and at 
the same time disbelieve the Genesis account. In 
reshaping the story of man we must also reshape 
our thoughts as to the relationship of God and 
man. 

We cannot honestly use theological terms that 
in themselves imply a belief in a fall, and yet at 
the same time be evolutionists. I became more 
and more deeply conscious of this, and I was com- 
pelled to try to find a theory of that dearest and 

[35] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



noblest life that satisfied me. I must confess that 
during my first pastorate I never reached such a 
theory. I never gave up the search, but never 
found real satisfaction. 

I often heard men in my position glibly de- 
nounced, but glib denunciation is cheap. A man 
who is laboriously trying to scale the peak is not 
a very fitting object of blame by those who are 
contented to remain down in the valley. When 
I heard the epithets hurling around me like shells 
from an enemy's lines, I thought of the anathemas 
that Luther threw at Schwenckfeld, and that Cal- 
vin discharged at Castellio, and was not sorry to 
be in such good company. 

Fortunately the second unnoticed help was 
standing me in good stead. Each month we held 
a meeting of the Ministers 9 Fraternal. There 
were sixteen Congregational ministers in Leeds 
who met at one another's homes each month. We 
met on Monday morning, had breakfast, and ad- 
journed at noon. There was nothing formal 
about the meetings. All types of men were num- 
bered among the sixteen members, some orthodox, 
some heterodox, some spirituelle, and some rather 
materialistic. The varied types, of course, made 
the helpfulness of the meetings. 

[36] 



THE FIRST PARISH 



Views were expressed quite openly on religious 
subjects, without a fixed programme, for all were 
really brothers. No attempts were made to dis- 
simulate, and there was no fear of misunderstand- 
ing. Sometimes one who had read a suggestive 
book would informally describe the argument. 

These Monday mornings are now to me among 
my most precious and happy memories, and I am 
certain that it was from the spirit born in these 
breakfasts that Congregationalism grew to be so 
influential in Leeds. 

There was also in connection with the Fraternal 
a book club. Each member bought a book, and 
each month the purchases were passed along. 
Thus sixteen good books were always in circula- 
tion and the criticisms and conversations thereon. 
Two men were thus introduced to me who have 
ever since been helpful friends. Percy Gardner's 
" Exploratio Evangelica " proved a deep inspira- 
tion. It seemed to put order into my disordered 
thinking. My copy is lined and underlined and 
often yet speaks. John Fiske's books came with 
a parallel helpfulness, and perhaps gave me the 
greatest assistance of all my reading. Gardner 
can be roughly said to have given criticism an ar- 
rangement that was perhaps somewhat destruc- 

[37] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



tive, and Fiske reconstructed. Gardner taught 
negatively and Fiske positively. I owe a debt 
deeper than words can express to both of these 
writers. 

It is fitting here to mention help that came from 
friends and co-workers in the church. Observers 
of life necessarily gain great help from their ob- 
servations, and ministers who take note of the 
friends with whom they work receive frequent in- 
spiration. Some of the assistance they receive 
comes from a real desire to impart aid, and some 
perhaps from a very different motive. 

There were in the congregation two characters 
of a type that we are fast losing. In pre-travel 
da} T s, neighborhoods sometimes possessed one or 
two strongly marked individuals. They were 
called " characters." We had two in our congre- 
gation. 

One, whom I will name Tom Johnson, was be- 
tween seventy and eighty years of age. He was 
short in stature, stout, had a very full round face, 
and, being lame, walked slowly, with much noise of 
stick and breathing. He had lived a strenuous 
life, saved carefully every possible coin, and in 
his late days was able to live on his savings, w r hich 
were invested in cottage property. His struggles 



THE FIRST PARISH 



had developed a good measure of self-satisfaction. 
He affected, for it was more an affectation than a 
reality, a gruff, grumbling mien, and never could 
be induced to be gracious. If you met him and 
said cheerily, " Good-morning, Mr. Johnson ; a 
fine morning ! " he would reply : " Hm ! Well, 
tha hes thi share on% hesn't ta? 99 

Once I wrote him a letter of congratulation on 
his birthday. He met me a few days later, gave a 
good, all-round, surly growl, and then suddenly 
said, " Oh ! thank ye for that letter," and then 
noisily stumped off. Poor old fellow ! He was 
pleased, but it went against the grain to show it. 

He took a fancy to one corner of one pew, and 
would sit nowhere else. In fact, it was that cor- 
ner that brought him to the Congregational 
church. When the building was being erected, a 
Methodist church near-by was being dismantled, 
and the old fittings were bought for the new struc- 
ture. Old Mr. Johnson had sat in that corner 
in the Methodist chapel. Whatever the difference 
in the denominations, he accommodated his reli- 
gion to his whim. 

If any one chanced to occupy that cherished 
corner when he came into church, he would stand 
at the pew's door and say peremptorily, "Come 

[39] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



aat, theer ! " and out the intruder had to come, 
accompanied by the smiles of all in the building. 

The old man had naturally a strongly marked 
theology, which he did not conceal, and as the 
preacher proceeded, the remarks would be heard: 
" Bosh ! " " Nowt o't soart ! " (Yorkshire dia- 
lect for "Nothing of the sort") or "That's 
reight, lad ! 99 each remark being accompanied by 
a very positive nod or a disapproving shake of 
the head. 

The running comments were very disconcerting, 
and often nearly broke me down, but by and by 
I looked for them, as they formed a test as to 
whether I was saying anything worthy of dissent 
or assent. I knew that it was a poor sermon that 
did not merit one or the other. 

Poor old man, although he thought that he was 
" far ben 55 in theology, he never lost his love 
of the material, and one of his last sayings was, 
" Tom," addressing his son, " theer's a pair a 
booits at t'cellar heead, what wilt ta gie ma for 
'em?" 

The other character was about the same age, 
and also assumed a gruff, fault-finding attitude 
toward all people and all things. He criticised 
everybody and everything most roundly, but, as 

[40] 



THE FIRST PARISH 



we all knew that below the surface was an ex- 
tremely kind heart, and as the criticisms were 
often very shrewd, we laughed and enjoyed the 
pungency of his words. 

Mr. Retson was a thoroughgoing Calvinist. He 
often asked me to preach from the epistle to the 
Romans. The church was an old foundation, and 
the trust deeds were thoroughly Calvinistic. Mr. 
Retson would say, " Yo knaw, I could ha yo 
turned aat, for yo're not praeching accordin to t' 
trust deeds." I would reply, " Why don't you? " 
The answer would be, " Well, I couldn't get anny- 
body that could praech up to 'em, soa we might 
as well go on as we are." 

No one was more interested in the church, and 
no one worked better for it, only at times it was 
embarrassing to hear him say loudly in the vesti- 
bule, about a visiting preacher : " Well, yon 
chap can't praech. He's war nor ahr awn feller " 
(He's worse than our own fellow). 

Once he said to a professor from the college, 
who had taken the morning's service : " Hm ! I 
often wondered how it was that ahr chap wor such 
a poor praecher, naw I knaw." 

These two critics really helped, and it would be 
interesting to hear again in our correct New 

[41] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



England churches, " Bosh ! " " Nowt o't soart," 
and " Yo didn't know what yo were talking abaat 
this morning." 

I am not sure but what it would be a cheering 
thing if our younger and more polite generation 
had as great an interest in the depths of think- 
ing, as had those two men of a passing era. An 
incident that helped me ought to be mentioned 
here. 

One of the deacons loved the church with the 
most intense ardor. Probably nothing on earth 
was so dear to him, so much in his thoughts. 
One day he asked his fellow-deacons to remain be- 
hind after the service. Before them, in kindly 
manner, he charged me with telling his children 
that some things in the Old Testament were not 
records of actual happenings. 

I acknowledged that the charge was true, and 
an earnest discussion followed, during which I 
said, " I can only preach and teach what I be- 
lieve, and you would despise me if I did any 
other." 

The deacon himself was absolutely sincere, and 
at once acknowledged that I spoke the truth. The 
meeting ended with our increased respect for each 
other. Although we differed in our interpret a- 



THE FIRST PARISH 



tions, and do so to this day, yet we knew that 
we were each seekers after truth, and loved each 
other probably the better for our differences. 

The photograph of the deacon looks down on 
me from my study wall, and there is no man whom 
I honor more, or to whom I would more readily 
go in time of need. 

I always had sympathy for the men of that 
first church, and certainly they needed sympathy, 
for I fear that I had only " working hypotheses " 
on which to build all the time that I was there. 

Still our differences, faithfully stated, helped 
us one and all. It is well for a preacher to be 
absolutely open, but he must be trusted by those 
to whom he speaks, and must be known as a real 
earnest servant of the Highest. 

I often have heard it said that a preacher can- 
not speak as openly from the pulpit as he can 
amongst his fellow-preachers. I have never yet 
believed that. I have always done so, and do not 
feel, after twenty-five years, that I have suffered 
by so doing. Of course, I have not preached to 
make people believe as I do, rather I have preached 
to suggest, and if the thoughts of the friends have 
taken them to quite different conclusions from my 
own, that has in no way disquieted me. 

[4»] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



We are all climbers up the hills of God. The 
minister because of his occupation has greater 
time to know of the routes that other climbers 
have taken, and his privilege is to tell of those 
routes; then, with the help derived from him and 
other sources, it is for his friends to choose their 
upward trail. The preacher needs ever to re- 
member that his path is not the only one. 



[44] 



CHAPTER IV 



THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE 

TEN years passed happily and with signs of 
progress and success, and then I received 
and accepted a call to the Trinity Congregational 
Church, Swinton, Manchester. 

After ten years of practical work, I gained a 
little confidence, and began to use the results of 
Biblical criticism. Occasionally, when I visited 
some of the older members of the church, they 
would say, " What you said on Sunday sounded 
all right, but — " Then would follow a dubious 
shaking of the head. 

The Swinton church was a family church. The 
friends loved it because of family ties. If the 
preacher were not altogether acceptable, still the 
bond held. Fortunately, a deep sympathy grew 
up between minister and people, and no man could 
be happier and more cheered than I was. The 
congregations were uniformly good, and the in- 
terest was genuine. At this time I commenced a 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



custom which I have ever since continued. In the 
congregation were many readers, and a goodly 
number of book-buyers. 

A deacon, who visited London frequently, was a 
veritable fountain of new books, a goodly number 
of which poured into my study. Many helpful 
discussions were held relative to the contents of 
the books, and it seemed to me that it would be 
useful to give these discussions a wider field, so I 
decided to give at stated times a book-sermon. 

The great Eternal Spirit speaks through all 
men: as he spake through the great men of the 
Hebrew race, so he speaks through the thinkers 
and writers of all races now. My intention was 
to go down to the message within the book, to 
emphasize the central idea, and to leave such idea 
to work positively or negatively as the case may 
be. 

At first a few timorous friends here and there 
were a little shocked at my not choosing themes 
from the Bible, but gradually the feeling grew 
that as the Bible is the library of one race it could 
not be wrong now and then to learn from the 
libraries of other races. I tried to vary the 
books, — new and old, historical and present-day, 
problem stories and simpler pictures of life. I 

[46] 



THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE 



consulted librarians and readers wherever I could, 
and though often influenced by the popularity of 
the book, I sometimes selected works that could 
not and would not be popular. 

Whatever the good of the book-sermons to the 
hearers, they made me read and keep in touch with 
the book-world. 

I tried now and then " series " of sermons, but 
apparently always failed to create a sustained in- 
terest and so dropped the attempts. The only 
series which ever seemed to succeed were those in 
which I told a book to the children, (making the 
talks take the place of children's addresses. I 
don't really know, but I believe that I helped to 
foster a love of reading amongst the listening little 
folk. 

Thus the days and weeks of a happy compan- 
ionship and pastorate came and went. 

The calm, however, was not destined to be too 
long in duration. Some lives are lived completely 
in a summer-like calm and beauty, but the ma- 
jority of us have alternating periods of quietude 
and turmoil, of stillness and of stress. 

My eldest boy was away at a public school. 
One day a letter came from the head-master say- 
ing that an accident had happened, and that the 

[47] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



boy was temporarily laid aside. Whilst being 
troubled, the mother and I felt that nothing was 
seriously wrong, but, when each succeeding letter 
said " Miles is holding his own," it seemed that 
there was a greater evil than appeared on the 
surface. I went off to the school and found a 
serious state of affairs. A kick given in play had 
injured the hip-bone, and it was apparent that 
that most troublesome disease, a tuberculosis hip, 
was to be encountered. 

For three months excessive pain and illness made 
it impossible to move the sufferer. During this 
time either the mother or myself was constantly 
at the school, and then by taking especial precau- 
tions, it was possible to have the lad brought home. 
Only too surely it became apparent that perma- 
nent injury had been received and that incurable 
lameness would be the result. The worst fears 
were realized, and the lad had to lie still in bed 
for two and one-half years with constant attention 
given the whole time. 

There came now a period which I never care for 
memory to recall. The whole household fought 
bravely and quietly, and our friends at the church 
were noble in their sympathy. Their deeds of 
kindness were innumerable, and an added tie was 

[48] 



THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE 



woven between people and pastor. The goodness 
of the whole neighborhood was such that I never 
heard the word " Lancashire " without a grateful 
thrill. 

New processes were now started in my inner- 
most life. Hitherto, my changes of viewpoint had 
been, as it were, of the mind and theoretical. Now 
I was driven to consider my beliefs through the 
heart by practical experience. 

One night I walked backward and forward along 
the shore outside the school. A light showed the 
sick-room, and shadows on the blind displayed the 
moving forms of the doctor and nurse. I prayed 
earnestly, but between the prayers I attempted 
calmly to analyze the situation. Hour after hour 
throughout the night I fought, swayed alternately 
by heart and mind, by faith and revolt, by submis- 
sion and rebellion. One thing I knew. I must 
find a working theory of the relation between God 
and my soul. 

I had believed that if prayers were not an- 
swered, it was because God, an outside person, 
knew best what was good, and therefore gave or 
withheld. If God were, so to speak, an outside 
power, then of course he would know what was 
for the best. But my reasoning was futile. 

[40] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



It is not enough when a trouble comes, to 
bow blindly down before it, and pray for its re- 
moval. 

Why do things happen? They are not simply 
bolts from the blue; they are not disconnected 
tragedies. Nothing explains itself ; every present 
requires a past for an explanation. Why was I 
fighting with this tragedy? Why was I wrestling 
through the long and anxious night? I began 
baldly and almost apparently unfeelingly to an- 
alyze the situation. 

The immediate cause of the trouble did not 
count, for immediate causes are the least impor- 
tant ones. The bullet speeding through the air is 
only the instrument of a long series of prepara- 
tion, and to prevent a second bullet we must con- 
sider carefully those preparations. I carefully 
looked backward, and alternately traced a long 
chain of events that gave me an explanation. 
The soul in agony often cries : " Why, why hast 
Thou forsaken me?" But often facts baldly 
tracked down through many years of life answer 
that soul's cry. Then follows the attempt to 
reach the remedy. 

For every diagnosis of an evil precedent history 
has to be studied, but in the long sequence of cause 

[50] 



THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE 



and effect, where does God come in? This question 
sets afoot another series of questions. What 
about God? What do we mean by God? What 
is the nature of the Divine guidance and influence 
in life? 

That night saw the last of my prayers for spe- 
cial providential interferences, but months passed 
as I tried to find consecutive and reasoned answers 
to my queries. All the time I had to preach and 
presumably to guide others. Could a preacher be 
quiet, perhaps it would be better, but only too 
often he cannot. If I could have gone away, like 
Paul, into the desert and been silent, it would have 
been better for me and those whom I tried to help. 

Little did I know that I was to go into the 
desert, and there in the quietude rebuild myself. 

Two years and a half we wrestled with the son's 
affliction, and although a little progress was made, 
it was disheartening. We began to realize that 
some more drastic remedy must be tried. The 
physician said that a bright dry climate would be 
a help. We knew of a likely place in Texas. 
Should we make the change? Should we pluck 
ourselves up by the roots and go? Could we 
break all ties, and stop all the work which was 
woven into our lives? 

[51] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



For months we wondered and debated. At last 
the decision seemed forced upon us. Our second 
son was one day sent home by the school physi- 
cian, who said that he had grave doubts about the 
condition of his lungs. This decided us. We 
would try life afresh in a new land, under what 
we hoped would be more favorable climatic condi- 
tions. 

Amidst loving acts of kindness by our people 
that will never be surpassed and that cannot be 
forgotten, the second pastorate ended. 

I wish now to tabulate and compare my beliefs 
with the beliefs I held in college and pre-college 
days. 

I had had eighteen years in the ministry. My 
public service, I said to myself, was finished. 
During these years I had read widely, I had 
worked hard, and I had suffered. I had followed 
to the grave every home member of my family, — 
my father, my mother, and three of my sisters. I 
had known great joy, also. I had entered into a 
new home life, with the love of wife and children. 

What of my religious theories? How had they 
worked? What new outlook had become mine? 

Of course there was change — he is a poor man 
who never changes. He has a restricted outlook 

[52] 



THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE 



who sees no new views. He has no growth who 
never feels the old chambers too small. He has 
only half lived who has never climbed and seen 
wider horizons. No bonds should be strong 
enough to bind a man's mind. Consistency is of 
less importance than development. 

In brief the changes in my beliefs were some- 
what as follows : — 



In Earlier Days, 
god. A great, superior per- 
son. 



jesus. A necessary inter- 
mediary between an es- 
tranged God and a sin- 
ning people. 



sin. The result of a prime- 
val fall. 

miracles. All true records 
of actual events. 



After Eighteen Years. 

An all-pervading Spirit, 
whom no words ever de- 
scribed nor imagery pic- 
tured satisfactorily to my 
groping mind. 

The highest revelation of the 
great all-pervasive Spirit. 
The great example of life. 
The great teacher of spir- 
ituality. Divine? Yes, for 
all men are of God. The 
difference between him 
and us not of kind but of 
degree. 

The wilful choice of a lower 
when a higher is known. 

Unhistoric stories and ex- 
planations that gather 
around great persons and 
events. Every miracle is 
a testimony to the great- 
ness of the centre around 
which it is woven. 



[53] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



the bible. A miraculous A magnificent record of the 



life. A struggle from A process and an adven- 



I have purposely made the statements in the 
contrasting columns very brief and pointed, but 
behind each one there are probably months upon 
months of struggling and inward debating. 
Throughout the conflict I never concealed my 
thoughts from my friends and fellow-workers in 
the church. I was always absolutely frank, and 
I believe that my frankness was really beneficial 
and helpful. 

Mrs. Humphry Ward says that " the force 
of things is against the certain people," but it is 
commonly said that the pulpit should be the place 
of certainties. The value of a pulpit, however, 
depends largely on the bond between or uniting 



record, miraculously given. 



unique spiritual develop- 
ment of a people. Dur- 
ing the growth are pe- 
riods of decadence and 
also of splendor. The rec- 
ord is thus of unequal 
value. 



which the worthy at last 
emerge with well-deserved 
laurels, and the unworthy 
with deserved failure. 



ture, where the values are 
to be measured not by re- 
sults but by deserts, 
where outward effects are 
small and insignificant 
compared with inward 
growth and worth. 



[54] 



THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE 



the pulpit and the pew, given ties of deep love 
and trust uniting congregation and minister, then 
I believe that the speaker can with resultant bene- 
fit be really frank. After all, his strivings are the 
strivings of his hearers and the faithful revelation 
of his own struggling will, or can be an inspiration 
to kindred souls. 

There are doubts and doubts. Some are mere 
surface ripples caused by passing breezes, but 
others are permanent currents that slowly and 
surely leave their markings on the hardest bed 
rock. The latter demand prolonged attention 
(woe to us if we do not give it) ; the former are 
only of private and passing interest. 

I may say that as regards the beliefs I held, 
I regarded none of them as final or complete. If 
we take up a mental position and regard it as a 
permanent home, we preclude further expansion.' 
A dogma which to us states finality may be as an 
anchor. Anchorages, however, give not only tem- 
porary security, but, if made abiding, forbid all 
further voyaging, and no soul should declare for 
no further explorations. 

It seemed sometimes to me that all my changes 
were negative or destructive in kind ; then I would 
think of what I was told was Phil May's method 

[55] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



of drawing. It is said that he drew his figures in 
almost numberless lines, and then began to elim- 
inate. Persistently and ruthlessly he eradicated 
until at last he had only a few broad lines left 
which as you know told their story. 

Perhaps at first we need many statements and 
dogmas, then, later, we only require a few well 
defined foundation-faiths. I had not really 
found myself but looked ahead, taking as my 
motto Whittier's: 

" I know not where His islands lift 
Their fronded palms in air; 
I only know I cannot drift 
Beyond His love and care." 

I set my face toward the new West; my heart 
looked longingly behind; my mind trembled and 
wondered what painful new adjusting I would be 
called upon to make. 

My last view of the Old World was of a large 
group of friends standing on a dock, half 
shrouded in the mists of a drizzling rain. 



[56] 



CHAPTER V 



A NEW LIFE IN A STRANGE LAND 

WE sailed in midwinter, and had a stormy 
passage, the voyage being three times the 
usual length. Despite the tossing, we all enjoyed 
ourselves. It was in very interested mien that we 
finally saw the light-house at the mouth of the 
Mississippi. 

I suppose that we generally enter into a new 
sphere with somewhat of bright hopes. We re- 
member very clearly the darknesses of the past 
and anticipate their absence in the future. One's 
heaven consisted largely of the opposite of one's 
known experiences. If the sea has been a fear, 
then there shall be no more sea; if pain has 
gnawed, then there shall be no more pain; if 
poverty has pinched, then the street shall be paved 
with gold. So it is, that we step into the future, 
secretly hoping that the trials of the past shall 
remain in the past, and that we henceforth shall 
know a happier existence. As the passengers 

[57] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



sighted the lighthouse that told of the New World, 
all somehow hoped for a new life in that new 
land. 

It must be confessed that the mouth of the Mis- 
sissippi is not an ideal entrance into a new world. 
The vessel plies its way into a muddy passage 
filled to the brim with yellow water. Both banks 
have a border of a few inches of mud sticking out 
of the oozy river, and then a thick undergrowth 
of swamp plants. Here and there through open- 
ings are ponds of still water, and after a while, as 
a surprise, a wooden building raised up on piles. 

Hour after hour the traveller sees nothing but 
swamp, mud, half-grown trees, and an occasional 
wooden hut on stilts. After a dreary day the 
vessel slowly sidles up to the wharf at New Or- 
leans. 

We satisfied somewhat tardily the immigration 
officials, who do not, naturally, care to have sick 
persons brought into their land; and then we set 
off on the last stage of our long journey. 

Not knowing the customs of American railways, 
we did not check our baggage, but trusted that 
what we called " luggage " in the old life would be 
cared for by the porters in the old way. Thus we 
arrived at our destination, with literally nothing 

[58] 



A NEW LIFE IN A STRANGE LAND 



brought from the old life but the clothes in which 
we stood. 

It was truly and surely a new beginning. We 
had no home, no friends, no wardrobe, no books, 
no position, no assuredness of anything! The 
past was gone. We had really let all go, and as 
far as material things went, we carried nothing 
with us into the unknown future. 

Such a breakage is not a pleasant experience. 
I had often read Lowell's " Pioneer," had been 
thrilled by it, and had longed to enjoy its pleas- 
ures in reality ; but when that reality came it was 
not an unmixed pleasure ! 

Every time I go to that depot now, I think of 
those first-arrival feelings, and their peculiar pain. 
Although several years have passed, little of the 
thrill is lost. 

To move from an old city in the Old Country 
to the Southwest is to make a striking and real 
change. One seriously tests in such an adventure 
one's ability for readjustment. During the test- 
ing many knocks must be borne. 

In the first place a somewhat new language had 
to be learned. I told the station-master that our 
luggage was lost, and he wondered what I meant. 
Luggage, I found, as a word must suffer the same 

[59] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



fate as that which it signifies, — it must be lost. 
Henceforth it is baggage. Even the " booking- 
office 99 and the " station 99 must also be lost under 
the old names. I was no longer understood in 
the commonest descriptions. A " shop " was no 
longer a place where things were sold, but signified 
" works 99 (or in more accurate " United States," 
"factory"). There w T ere no "chemists," no 
hardware shops, no " drapery " stores ; and when 
in my innocence I inquired for various familiar 
things, the girls behind the counters would look 
at me with a bewildered kind of pity and say, 
"We don't handle them." "Well, do you sell 
them?" I asked. "We don't handle them," was 
the sufficing answer. If I asked for boots, high- 
laced farmer affairs were shown me; all other foot- 
wear were shoes. They didn't " handle " trousers, 
though if I said " pants " they gave me trousers ! 
Bobbins, reels, cotton-wool, and print were not 
known under their old names. When I was in a 
good humor I smiled at the differences in nomen- 
clature ; when I was in the blues I growled to my- 
self, " Why in the world don't they call things 
by their right names ! " 

Differences in words were only typical of dif- 
ferences in many many directions — the mention 

[60] 



A NEW LIFE IN A STRANGE LAND 



of which is not in the spirit of criticism, but only 
for the sake of comparison, comparison without 
any idea of criticism. The new-comer is the one 
who criticises. When you rush through a coun- 
try in one or two days, then you feel that you can 
criticise, and make many caustic comments ; but 
when you live in a country for a few years, you see 
differences that are not all on the debit side, some 
of them having to be very decidedly on the credit 
side. 

If no new books were allowed to be written, 
about a country by any author who had not lived 
in a country for four years, we should lose per- 
haps many witticisms, but we should get much 
truer perceptions and understandings. We 
should lose perhaps some of life's gayety, for few 
things are more amusing than descriptions by one 
who has rushed rapidly through a land led by a 
guide of a conducted party. It took time to begin 
to appreciate the spirit beneath and also, perhaps, 
to estimate the causes for some of the surface dif- 
ferences. 

We arrived in El Paso, Texas, on a Saturday 
morning, and after some scurrying around found 
our new place of abode. 

On the first Sunday morning we wandered along 

[61] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



the streets, and at last entered a place of worship. 
There was no dim religious light, no air of solem- 
nity. We were taken aback by quite a buzz of 
conversation in a room that for us was not a 
church, but an auditorium. A hearty welcome 
was given to strangers, but to one who was ac- 
customed to being sedately conducted to a pew, 
the welcome seemed a little out of place. The 
service commenced with music led by a paid quar- 
tette. Many stood without books, and as my wife 
and I each had one, I stepped near by to give a 
lady and gentleman mine. " We don't sing," said 
the lady. " I beg your pardon," I replied in 
confusion. " We don't sing," repeated the lady ; 
and I walked back, not quite understanding what 
she meant. I soon learned. Virtually the entire 
audience did not sing! Now, after seven years, I 
would give a good deal to hear in an American 
church a real hearty rendering of an old hymn. 
After the collection, in regard to which the words 
of the minister seemed remarkably pointed, he 
began his sermon. 

Evidently the groundwork of the faith of the 
minister was exactly the same as that of my old 
village church. For twenty years I had been liv- 

[«*] 



A NEW LIFE IN A STRANGE LAND 



ing through changes. One after another of my 
old positions had been forsaken, and yet here in a 
new land, with all its new ways, I was taken with 
sudden rebound right back to the old, old order ! 

There was the Genesis view of creation, the lit- 
eral heaven, hell, and devil, the verbal and plenary 
inspiration of the Bible, and the old Ebal and 
Gerizim. 

Thirty years had been painfully traversed, six 
thousand miles had been travelled, and, for all of 
it, with one step across the threshold of that au- 
ditorium we went back the whole spiritual and in- 
tellectual journey. 

On subsequent Sundays we went to other 
churches, and found, generally speaking, the same 
type of theology. At last we said : " Appar- 
ently, there is no room for such work as I can do. 
The best plan is to get out of the city, and live 
our own life in the country." 

After three months of search, my sister found a 
ranch that seemed to satisfy, and at once she made 
a bargain with the owner, and we moved down the 
valley. Down the valley, and away from what 
hitherto I had regarded my life's work ! Away 
from the problems which had been my chief in- 

[63] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



terest, and out to a new life which was all fresh 
and untried ! Thus the household turned its back 
to the city and entered the farm. 

In the old country a farm presupposes certain 
things, — a solidly built square house, an attrac- 
tive old-fashioned garden, some outbuildings that 
seem an inseparable, deep-rooted part of the coun- 
tryside, a square farmyard surrounded by sub- 
stantial mistals, stabling, and barns, and a general 
air of sufficiency. 

A farm in the far West is very different, and is 
somewhat as follows : A little adobe house cov- 
ered with a flat mud roof, no garden, simply a 
stretch of dry bare land littered with odds and 
ends ; behind the house one or two tumble-down 
wood and corrugated-iron shacks, beyond which 
lies a piece of land fenced in with barbed wire. 
All around are half-cultivated stretches. A 
plough, harrow, and a wagon mutely appeal be- 
cause of their lonesome unprotectedness. There 
are no hedgerows, but only barbed wire strung on 
waddling posts. Inside the house there are bare 
and square rooms, their floors the earth, and either 
open beams at the ceiling or sagging cotton which 
was once white but now is stained by the water 
leaking through the mud roof. 

[64] 



A NEW LIFE IN A STRANGE LAND 



Fortunately the climate is dry and sunny, but 
on perhaps a dozen days of the year there are 
heavy thunder-showers. Then there is excitement 
enough. Very soon one hears the drip, drop, drip, 
drop, drip, drip, drop, on all sides. There is an 
anxious search for a place where no water falls, 
and the bed is pushed there. The table is put 
in the next comparatively dry position. The 
books have to be content with but risky immunity. 
The inside arranged, the outside has to be seen 
to, where the turkeys, ever prone to suicide, are 
found huddled under a fall-pipe so drenched that 
their days on earth are numbered. 

The dry dust turns into a wonderfully sticky 
mud, and boots bring a pound or two into the 
house at each entry. The cows and horses stand 
in several inches of manure, and for days one sadly 
remembers that once the earth was void and dark- 
ness was upon the face of the deep. 

Under normal conditions, however, everything 
is dry, and is a reminder of the other story of the 
creation when God had not caused it to rain upon 
the earth. 

By and by things are fixed as comfortably as 
possible about the house, and the herculean task of 
making a farm is undertaken. 

[65] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



The hired laborers are Mexicans, who, influ- 
enced in part by the climate and in part by hered- 
ity, do a little work in a lot of time. They never 
hurry, and they are always ready to put off until 
to-morrow what they do not want to do to-day. 
They like to sit about, moving around the house 
so as to face the sun in winter and to keep in the 
shade in summer. In the summer the Mexican's 
position is almost as dependable a time-teller as 
the shadow of the sun-dial. 

With such help things do not hum. Slowly and 
with great labor a small patch near the house is 
made to resemble a garden ; slowly a field is laid 
out and a little green gladdens the eye; gradually 
the fences are strengthened, and in between the 
planting and the weeding a few chicken-houses are 
built. Each time it rains, a vow is registered to 
make a better corral for the cows and the horses. 

For every hour of the day ten jobs present 
themselves. The Mexicans look upon them and 
pass by on the other side. 

When one remembers that an old farm in an 
old country has taken centuries to make, and when 
one divides these centuries into days, one gets an 
idea of what little one day's task really consists. 
You patiently toil on and the little }^ou do ac- 

[66] 



A NEW LIFE IN A STRANGE LAND 



complish makes slightly more homelike surround- 
ings. 

Slowly your garden is fenced so that every in- 
quisitive chicken and blundering turkey cannot eat 
up the bits of grass. Slowly better roofs appear 
on sheds so that the cattle are not exposed to all 
storms, and slowly little jobs are done about the 
house. 

The only chance for a rest is Sunday afternoon. 
A walk around the place with the wife is fruitful 
of things that shall be done during the coming 
week. The resolution is firm, despite a fortunate 
forgetfulness of the many times similar things have 
been planned on previous Sunday afternoons. It 
is thrilling to read of the " pioneers." In the old 
life one often wants to get out of the old ways, 
but it is not all poetry being on a pioneer farm, 
and sometimes more of grin than smile is needed. 

One day a ditch bank broke, just at the highest 
place. Ditch-stopping like everything else re- 
quires experience, but if that be lacking, the best 
has to be done without it ; so my boy and I rushed 
at the work, and vigorously shovelled dirt into the 
breach, which the rushing water just as vigorously 
carried away. We exerted ourselves to the ut- 
most, and after hours of over-strenuous toil built 

[67] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



up a new bank. Then the lad, tired out, sat down 
and cried. 

Another day I heard my wife call. At once I 
ran into the kitchen. I saw a little pig with his 
head and forequarters fast in the churn, and the 
buttermilk all over the floor. I could do nothing 
but laugh, to the infinite disgust of the wife, who 
was thinking of the loss and the mess. Bad fenc- 
ing had let Master Pig out. The making of a 
good fence was one of the jobs planned on Sun- 
day afternoons ! 

The most trying task of all came when the cows 
bloated. Now and then they would break out of 
the corral and eat green alfalfa or pick up green 
pears. They swelled like the fabled frog. Unless 
relief came promptly there would be no cow. 
Soda, salt, and water were poured down their 
throats, and then began the task of keeping them 
on the move. One after another the members of 
the family took up the task, and there was a gen- 
uine and almost endless relay race. At last the 
poor creatures were normal in size, and the ex- 
hausted chasers, in eloquent silence, sat down with- 
out particular regard as to the seat. 



[68] 



CHAPTER VI 



RANCHING ON THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 

FORTUNATELY, all ranch experiences were 
not on the trying side, and, of those that 
live with me, irrigating during the night stands 
out prominently. 

The turn for the water coming round to us, 
about seven o'clock in the evening we start for the 
field. The day has been stiflingly hot, but soon 
night's cool breezes will fan the cheeks. We dig 
away the accumulated mud, lift the gate, and the 
water gurgles into the ditch. We are in for 
hours of attention, now, and at first we are fully 
occupied, strengthening weak places and cutting 
openings. While the plateaus fill there is spare 
time. All is silence except for the distant bark- 
ing of a dog, the whistling of crickets, and an oc- 
casional cry of a night bird. The stars are won- 
derfully bright, and move slowly across the blue. 
Scorpion climbs up in the East, the three hori- 
zontal stars first appearing, and then the whole 

[69] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



figure coming into view. Cygnus and Vega pass 
slowly overhead. Now and then a meteor blazes 
across the sky. The Great Bear makes his jour- 
ney. How many types of men have watched the 
same heavenly procession ! The Indian, the Mex- 
ican, the Spanish adventurer and priest side by 
side, the thirst-racked pioneer, and preceding them 
all the unknown and forgotten races. What did 
they think? What solutions of the universal life- 
problems did they find? As one wonders one be- 
comes a mere atom trying to realize the immensi- 
ties of the universe, a tiny busy ant rushing about 
and carrying a load. Why? And whither? 

One's knowledge of history is reviewed, and 
speculations arise as to the coming days. Job's 
surmisings become very real, and, as with him, 
things too wonderful for us present themselves. 

Slowly, as the result of many such nights, one 

becomes more and more conscious of the Might 

Behind. The Great I Am comes to the fore, and 

it becomes clear why in that vague yet searching 

way the desert-dweller of old described the Power 

encircling him. Tennyson's old, old lines, — 

" Our little systems have their day ; 

They have their day and cease to be: 
They are but broken lights of thee. 
And thou, O Lord, art more than they," — 

[70] 



THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 



repeat themselves, and one wonders why we have 
the presumption to quarrel about our fleeting the- 
ories, creeds, and denominations. As with the 
great Hebrew, all that one can do is to try to 
serve a little and walk reverently before the 
Maker. 

As the water silently feeds the land, so the still- 
ness and the heavenly march feed one's greater 
self. God is in his holy temple, and all the earth 
keeps silent before him. Slowly in the silences the 
foundations for a new faith are laid, but when 
gazing at the Pleiades it is remembered that our 
whole solar system can be placed in the oblong 
formed in that group. Our theologies seem very, 
very small. The night passes on. By and by a 
soft light fills the east, and then silently the moon, 
past the full, comes into view, her pearly gleam 
clothing all things with a mystical beauty. On 
and on one toils, and at last, when nearly through, 
a rosy glow floods the sky, birds begin to twitter, 
and, making a slight depression in the far-off hori- 
zon, the sun peeps forth. The depression is soon 
lost in the glow, and the full orb tells that another 
has dawned. The field is wet. Shouldering the 
spade one turns homeward, closing carefully the 
water-gate on the way. After a cold bath and a 

mi 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



draught of fresh milk, be the demands of life what 
they may, one feels ready to meet them. 

The quiet Texan nights have been for me pre- 
cious gifts. Where the sun has glowed through 
the thickets, I have seen the " burning bush," and 
felt that the place whereon I stood was holy 
ground. The foundation of faith is the reverent 
consciousness of the Power Behind, call that power 
by what name we will. 

It would be well if all " men of the study " were 
compelled to live for some time amidst broad 
spaces. We are all apt to become cabined and 
confined in our outlook. Book-lined walls are 
truly attractive, but it is not well for them to 
become horizons. We need now and then God's 
distances. We fight over our religious theories, 
and in the dust of the turmoil we are apt to for- 
get that the oldest Christian dogma does not 
closely approach two thousand years of age. 
What is that stretch of days compared with the 
eras of the universes? 

We needs must know all that we can of men's 
thoughts, but the wisest of us know woefully little, 
for the whole of the accumulated days of mankind 
are but as a second in geological time, and the 
earth he inhabits is but a speck of dust invisible 



THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 



to most of creation. We are obliged to think and 
to tell of our thoughts, but by all means let us 
take heed lest we presume to imagine that our 
dogmas circumscribe God. I dare no longer say 
that a thing is true or not true. All I can say is 
that it appeals to me or it does not appeal to me. 
No man nor man-made institution has certainty 
sufficient for arrogance. We all must walk 
humbly before God. 

Messages from the silences also came to me 
from the stretches of the mesa. About a mile and 
a half from the ranch there was a short steep 
rise, at the top of which a long expanse of rolling 
sand hill, valley, and mesa commenced and 
stretched for over five hundred miles of unbroken 
solitude. This long reach was sparsely covered 
with mesquite, sage-brush, cacti of various types, 
and greasewood, and here and there were clusters 
of desert flowers, gaudy in color, stiff and waxy. 
On these spaces was the firewood, not in trees, but 
in old buried sand-covered roots of mesquite. 

We would take the team, water, a few sand- 
wiches, axes, and hoes, and go to dig for wood. 
Away over the sandy stretches we slowly threaded 
our way. After the first stiff rise we were lost to 
the world. The sky out there is of deep, deep 

[73] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



blue. The horizon seems near, but it is really far 
removed. Those hills that at evening are glowing 
purple, and that solitary conelike peak, are one 
hundred and twenty miles away ! The heat is in- 
tense, but the air is invigorating. 

By and by we would come upon a heap of sand 
out of which was sticking an old-looking bush of 
mesquite. Near by were similar heaps. We 
would halt our team, loose the horse from the 
wagon, give it a block of alfalfa, and begin our 
task. 

We first pulled away the sand with the hoe, and 
after a while struck an old root, cleared it, and 
then chopped or split it. It is not easy work- 
ing at 105 degrees in the shade, but for wood we 
had come and wood we must have. The pieces 
were freed from entanglements, and as a reward 
we got a length of hard brown root like walnut 
four to six inches through and three to four feet 
long. 

After the wagon was filled we rested in the 
shade. Lazily turning over the sand we had un- 
earthed, we came upon shells and pebbles. When 
was this dry upland under the waves? We tried 
to think of the vast changes that must have oc- 
curred and found ourselves using Eastern figures 

[74] 



THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 



of speech. Somehow in these wide spaces 
Eastern expressions seem more natural than 
Western. The talk about hustling, dollars, ef- 
ficiency, and speculation feel queerly out of place. 
The Oriental fits the desert better than the Occi- 
dental. The Egyptian, Persian, and rural Old 
Testament writings suit one's mood, and the out- 
door talks of Jesus strike responsive chords. 

We cannot tell from the Gospels how many 
years Jesus spent out-of-doors, but we know that 
they were many, and if all thinkers, theologians, 
and philosophers could spend more time out with 
nature we should have less discussions and more 
amity. We live in too confined spaces. The af- 
fairs of the valley are all-important until we climb 
the heights and see other valleys and the blue, 
far-stretching plains. Nature and Nature's 
Creator and Sustainer are all-pervading in the 
spaces, and man's definitions and knowledge gath- 
ered through a few years seem very small. The 
fossil that I pick up from a stony slope makes ex- 
clusive theologies seem very insular. Within 
four walls little things loom largely; before vast 
stretches revaluation is necessary. 

Out-of-doors one's foundation-faith — belief in 
a great all-pervasive Spirit — grows, but dogmas 

[75] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



and doctrines become only guesses at truth, which 
according to our bent of mind we accept or ques- 
tion. 

The spreading spaces somehow made me think 
of the meeting of Jesus and the woman of Sa- 
maria. The view there would probably be some- 
what like the views here, — clear distances, shim- 
mering lights and shadows, far-off blue moun- 
tains, and loneliness over all. Discussions about 
religious minutiae seemed out of place, not big 
enough for the occasion, and I fancy that Jesus, 
responsive to the surroundings, said, 66 God is 
spirit, and those who would really reverence must 
be in touch with the spirit, must thrill with the 
nearness of the Eternal." Differences that divide 
are for little people ; real men and women do not 
talk much of man-made divisions, but see God 
everywhere. 

Day by day I lived in the distances, and felt 
them pulsing with the life of some indefinable 
Might. 

There are several schools through which most 
of us must pass and several colleges from which 
we must graduate. The first is our childhood's 
home, where the professor's desk is a mother's 
knee. Probably the most abiding lessons of life 

[76] 



THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 



are unconsciously learned there. A second school 
is our environment. We act and think very 
largely as those who are about us do. We think 
we believe as others do, and we say that we do, but 
these earlier professions have often to be sacri- 
ficed, often unlearned, and they probably are the 
source of some of life's hardest struggles. 

A third is college. Here we think that we 
learn a great deal. Here we are apt to be puffed 
up by our supposed knowledge. Here we build 
up what we think are safe and infallible theories 
of life. A fourth school is nature, and this has 
meant much to me. As I have said, the starlit 
skies and widespreading desert have taught me a 
little of what space means, and have made most 
of my old uncertainties seem very insecure and 
very foolish in their false confidence. Something 
is said to me paraphrasing freely the words of 
Jesus : 

66 The time shall be when men shall not boast 
of their theologies, when they shall not claim per- 
fection for their creeds, but when they shall feel 
the spirit within, and despite differing explana- 
tions of their feelings and their thoughts, shall 
respect each other and worship together in spirit 
and in truth. Not here or there is life; it con- 

[77] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



sists of the inner consciousness of the great Eter- 
nal's presence." 

The days of separation from my old life's work, 
the days when I was outside my old sphere, the 
days when I looked at life from a completely 
new angle, proved themselves, despite much hard 
work and many disappointments, truly blessed. 

During this period I mingled with men on a 
farming basis, and they talked with me as man 
with man, so that I got a closer view of them 
than I did in the professional days. There was 
not one per cent, of the men in real touch with 
the Church. Parsons were looked upon as men 
who made a profession, and did a work because 
of pay; they were expected to profess certain 
beliefs, and it was up to them to do it, while the 
ordinary man looked on and smiled. 

A farmers' association, or a talk at the street- 
corner with other farmers and men, — well, that 
meant something, but church dogmas were unreali- 
ties that got one nowhere. Girls, young folk, 
and women could go to church and could profess 
to " find religion," but as for actual life, such 
things were of little account. I knew only two 
men who cared in the slightest degree about de- 

[78] 



THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 



nominationalism, or who gave a thought to any 
formal creed. Yet all the men were decent, had 
their own code of morals, would do a good turn 
most readily to others, and were in every-day 
talk " real good fellows." 

The church has somehow to be induced to real- 
ize that the things it cares about, men in the 
mass do not care about. Religion has to be more 
clearly shown to be concerned with the daily do- 
ings of common folk; we all have to realize much 
more acutely that the seen and unseen are linked 
inseparably, and that there is a vital connection 
between life's everyday problems and life's touch 
with the unseen God. Allowing the exception of 
lay and clerical officials, the day of cut and dried 
and formal creeds has gone, but the day of in- 
terest in life's deeper difficulties is not even wan- 
ing. The church has to grapple with these dif- 
ficulties, not in the spirit of officialism, but as 
searching soul with searching soul. 

Somehow there needs to be spread abroad the 
feeling that church membership is not a profes- 
sion of a belief, but a declaration as to desired 
and wished for conduct. We shall have to cease 
demanding subscriptions to a creed, although, nat- 

[79] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



urally, those who can subscribe to similar creeds 
will work together and accept a desire in the 
place of a formal declaration. 

Our ascertained knowledge is daily appearing 
more and more cabined and confined, but our 
deeper feelings and longings are very distinct if 
private. Goodliness and professionalism are be- 
coming increasingly distasteful, but humility and 
an unuttered desire are more widely spread than 
we think. 

The church will have to become more and more 
an association of earnest seekers rather than a 
company of professed believers. There is a deep, 
almost tragically deep, longing for help in the 
unseen things of life, but the attempt to meet 
that longing must be very humbly offered. There 
is a growing place for helpfulness, but help can- 
not be rendered except by absolutely sincere as- 
sociations. Profession divorced from practice is 
increasingly hateful. There is a terrible void in 
life, but the church is not filling the space it 
should. 

Men are conscious of dark depths in life, but 
short lines and surface agitations do not reach 
them. Thinking, feeling men want deep feeling 
and earnest thinking in their would-be helpers. 

[80] 



THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 



Our noisy conventions, our buttons, our senseless 
repetitions of silly choruses, and our advertise- 
ments of numbers, do not impress yearning seek- 
ers ; rather do they repel them. 

Owing, probably, to my past associations, dur- 
ing my months of separation from church activi- 
ties, I thought continuously on two lines. As I 
have said, I felt more and more the presence of 
the " Great I Am " ; I learned more and more to 
lean on that Power and rejoice in Him, yet some- 
how I could not but feel that in our fussy ways 
and petty emphases we were not revealing that 
Power. 

The church seemed to me to be somewhat of a 
parallel to the friends of Job. We have our 
definite and certain theories which somehow do 
not impress men and women who are in the needs 
typified by that ancient sufferer. I did not think 
thus in the spirit of captious criticism. Men are 
often like Moses, the great leader. They wonder 
and wonder in the silences, and when they would 
define all they can say of the great impelling 
Spirit is " I am what I am." Too often, how- 
ever, when we work collectively, we are like the 
crowd that Moses tried to lead; we must have 
something that we can see and touch, and in the 

[81] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



place of the thrilling august Power we set up a 
visible calf. Some people desire the personal, an- 
thropomorphic, the seen and the tangible; the 
more thoughtful, and these are ever increasing in 
number, seek for the spiritual. 

Far up in the cloudy heights the mystic Moses 
conversed with God; down below in the valley, 
amid the time-worn ritual of Egypt, the priest 
Aaron officiated. 

The greater our ideals, the less can we define 
them ; the greater our ideals, the less able is our 
speech to describe them. I was never nearer God 
than in some of those Texan nights ; still I was 
never more unable to tell just what I felt. My 
faith grew, but my verbal expressions became 
more and more inadequate. I became more and 
more sure of the spiritual essence of things, but 
more and more incapable of describing my 
thoughts. 

With the spread of more accurate knowledge, 
the ability to dogmatize decreases, but with this de- 
crease is an ever-growing yearning for spiritual 
help. I wondered how the church was to meet 
this holy need, and no satisfactory answer came 
to me. I doubted only more and more the noisy 
methods of so-called up-to-date men. 

[82] 



CHAPTER VII 

THE CALL, COMES, AND IT IS ANSWERED 

THE detachment from church work and the 
welcome personal isolation were not destined 
to last long. One Sunday a deputation from El 
Paso came to the ranch. It consisted !of the 
Secretary of the Congregational Churches of 
Arizona, New Mexico, and Northern Texas, and 
two men from the church in El Paso. For a few 
years there had been a church in the city, and 
the pastor had just left. Like all new work in 
large cities, this was hard and discouraging, and 
so little progress seemed to have been made that 
it was almost decided to give up the effort. It 
was known that I, an ex-Congregational minister, 
was living near, and so as a final effort it was 
thought well to ask me to help. It was either I 
or no one. 

I told the deputation that I was not so certain 
of my position as I was once. I openly said 
where I thought I stood, and also told them that 
it was impossible to give up the ranch, which I 

[83] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



held for health's sake. Finally, it was agreed 
that I give half of my time to the church, and do 
my best. It is not often that pastorates are en- 
tered upon under such vague conditions, and I 
am not sure that under other conceivable circum- 
stances my terms would have been accepted. It 
was a case, however, of Hobson's choice, and so 
once more I entered on ministerial work. 

The meetings on Sundays were held in the 
Young Men's Christian Association, in a room 
lent in a very kindly spirit but yet unsuited for 
the work. I urged a place of our own, and a 
small store was rented at a distance of two miles 
from the city. 

The first congregation consisted of five people. 
There were no assets, not even a hymn-book, and 
there was a debt of five hundred dollars. Surely 
not a very encouraging start ! 

I now often look back on that early equipment: 
a little store, a debt, a small band of workers — 
the leaders of which with three exceptions non- 
Congregationalists, a minister from a far-off land 
who had never been in pioneer work, who was a 
stranger to the problems of the West, who had 
few of the certainties that the West desires, who 
disliked denominationalism and encircling bonds, 

[84.] 



THE CALL COMES 



and who preferred, in Snarley Bob's language, to 
thin himself out, visit the far-off stars, and look 
back from there on the tiny speck called " earth," 
rather than proclaim with assurance that the 
creeds contained perfect statements concerning 
the Almighty. 

Yes, it was a strange beginning, and also a day 
of small things only rendered possible by the 
ranch. 

The start was made, and strange to say in 
three months the store was too small, and a move 
was made to a downtown theatre which was lent to 
us free of charge through the interest of the 
owner in our work. 

With the growth and the interest aroused 
thereby in the town, I came across a feature that 
seemed very strange to me in the pioneer work of 
the West. I expected to find in a new land lib- 
erality, progressiveness, and an alertness to be 
in touch with later developments of thought. 

To some extent these expectations were real- 
ized, but in theological matters they were not. 
Men and women are busy with external things. 
Everything is in the making, and no time is left 
for reading or quiet thinking. All is feverish 
movement, and the hidden things are thus by 

[85] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



force neglected. Leisure and the fruits of leisure 
appear in old communities. Now and then amid 
the strenuous labor thoughts go back to the old 
settled homeland, and with these thoughts are 
memories of the old church, to whose ways dis- 
tance lends enchantment. 

So it comes about that coupled with radicalism 
in exterior wa} T s there is conservatism in inward 
things. 

Theologically, the majority of the people of 
the Southwest are exactly where the Pilgrims 
were, with the same old certainty, and the same 
intolerance of other views. If it were possible to 
do with the non-orthodox as the Puritans did 
with the Quakers, there is the willingness and the 
fanatical sense of duty to do it. 

On all hands one heard of open and overt op- 
position. To many earnest souls it seemed ter- 
rible that a man should have charge of a church 
who did not teach that every word of the Bible 
was true, and who openly said that he did not 
know the way of salvation. 

I made no answer to the many rumors that 
floated about, for theological controversy is use- 
less. 

I seemed to have learned in the solitude of the 
[86] 



THE CALL COMES 



farm that we are here not to make people think 
as we do, but rather, if asked, to tell humbly to 
what thoughts we have been led, and then not to 
be concerned if the listener be of similar mind. 

I quietly preached the thoughts that were true 
to me, and urged the listeners to seek for the 
aspects of life that were true for them. 

Naturally some came who thoroughly disliked 
the type of worship, and just as naturally some 
came who liked and came again. I commenced 
a Bible class and there told freely what I knew of 
the present position of Biblical scholarship. The 
interest in the class was very satisfactory, and 
many told of the help it was to them. There is 
a great need in the vast Southwest for present- 
day teaching of the Bible, for, while with the ma- 
jority the book is unnoticed, there are many on 
out-of-the-way ranches who are thinking deeply, 
and I was at times astounded at the conclusions to 
which some of these lonely men had come, con- 
clusions very similar to those reached by scholars 
and experts. One ranchman who lived miles from 
anywhere gave me once a very clear description 
of the two stories of the Creation in the earlier 
chapters of Genesis, and in his own way explained 
them as fully as Cheyne could have done. 

[87] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



As I tried to explain the Bible in the sense of 
the writers and their times, recognizing the limi- 
tations of those times, and as in the Bible class 
I was absolutely open in giving the views of the 
critics, I became more aware of the disturbance 
I was arousing. Times without number, by letter 
and verbally, I was asked: Did I believe in the 
Bible? Did I believe in the devil? Did I believe 
in the Divinity of Jesus? When asked about 
God, I often thought of Faust's answer to Mar- 
garet, but it is of little use trying to answer a 
bald query, so I left all alone. You cannot con- 
vince certain types of mind that there are ques- 
tions that cannot be answered by a direct " Yes " 
or " No." 

The very general dislike in the community 
necessitated some continuous policy. What 
should be done as regards the theological 
opposition? 

Perhaps if I had fought lustily back I should 
have gained in general popularity, for the public 
likes a fight, especially if the contestants are 
of the churches. We carefully considered the 
situation, and the trustees, who were essentially 
business men, felt as I did, that it was better to 
go on quietly with our teaching. One of them, 

[88] 



THE CALL COMES 



a lawyer of prominent standing, said : " It is not 
surprising that our minister is disliked. It would 
be surprising if he were not, for the conventional 
have never liked the unconventional, and the ortho- 
dox have never loved the heterodox. Let us go 
on with our task." 

We determined to be a humble teaching church. 
It seems to me that men of wider horizons tend 
always toward mysticism. The best minds of the 
era of the Reformation were the mystical. 
Luther may have been the practical man, but the 
spiritual reformers of his day are coming more 
and more into their own. It is seen increasingly 
that they had a work to do, and the present-day 
church is beginning to appreciate the reforms 
they had in view but were not able to make prac- 
ticable in their own day. 

My foundation faith was a belief in the ever- 
present and pervading Eternal Spirit. Faith is 
a deep-down abiding trust in the Great Spirit that 
throbs in all life, a belief that in this throb is the 
impelling power of the universe, and an absolute 
certainty that what counts in life is the attempt 
to be faithful to this heavenly movement. 

The above words very poorly express the feel- 
ings that had become mine during the quiet times 

[89] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



I had in the Texan stretches. It is only small 
things and trivial impressions that can be de- 
scribed in words. I can describe fairly well my 
room. I can less well describe my house, and 
still less satisfactorily the street in which my 
house stands. I cannot describe my city, and 
no traveller can paint an adequate word picture 
of the United States. One cannot describe a view 
from a towering mountain, much less can one 
describe one's feelings about the Great Eternal. 
The mysteries of life call for silence rather than 
for words. 

The open-air life of the ranch did, however, pro- 
vide me with a few similes with which I could at- 
tempt suggestions of the Power Behind. 

My favorite text was now " The kingdom of 
heaven is within you," and I often dwelt upon the 
sense, vague or less vague, that all men have of 
some great Presence. 

Soon I resumed the book-sermons, and, as this 
method of preaching was new to the Southwest, 
it was rather bitterly attacked. Sermons were to 
be from God's Word, and by " God's Word " was 
meant the Bible. Whittier's plea for an ever- 
alertness to God's voice, for an ever-present 
Olivet and Galilee, has found only restricted re- 

[90] 



THE CALL COMES 



sponse in the Southwest. There is only one book 
for the pulpit. 

I now speak of what was perhaps the most try- 
ing and disquieting of the experiences in El Paso. 

The one stock question always being presented 
to me was, " Do you believe in the Divinity of 
Jesus?" and it was often said, "Oh, I will not 
go to any church that does not teach that Jesus 
was Divine." Then people would stop me in the 
street and ask, " Are you a Unitarian? " 

Probably the meaning of Jesus causes the 
seeker who has left the old moorings more trouble 
than any other problem. 

The Gospels are read and read again and, 
again, and their charm is ever more attractive 
and alluring. Ever the question persists, " What 
shall we do with Jesus? " We ever feel that we 
must explain him in connection with the whole, 
with the whole that increasing knowledge reveals. 

After thirty years of humble thinking I cannot 
venture to say much of the theological position of 
the person of Jesus, and I always feel a little 
angry with the people who expect me in a short 
doctrinal statement to give as a homoeopathic 
dose the whole theory of the universe and the 
place of Jesus therein. 

[91] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



I was once climbing a difficult hill, and at an 
extremely hazardous place I got stuck, being able 
neither to advance nor return. An experienced 
traveller seeing my position came to me, helped 
me to steady myself, and then showed me how to 
use my alpenstock, so that I once more started on 
my upward way. In the far-off days, men were 
at the foot of the mountain. Soon they began 
to climb, but here and there they have stuck. 
Great climbers have helped them upward, and 
when the mountains of God are finally scaled, the 
help of Jesus will be recognized as one of the 
greatest factors of the success. Jesus has ever 
been the climbers' Saviour. 

Quietly, Sunday by Sunda} 7 , we went on, and 
slowly the gathering of friends increased. Some- 
times we were a little inclined to be discouraged 
by the slowness, and one of the trustees would say, 
" I know that there are many men in the town 
who are in search of just the kind of help that 
we are trying to give, and when they know, they 
will come." 

Perhaps, naturally, the slowest rate of increase 
was in the roll of membership. The type of 
people we were gathering did not care to make 
the simplest of theological statements, hence the 

[92] 



THE CALL COMES 



officials of the larger body were inclined to be 
dubious of our work. 

Once I was called to visit a young man who was 
near death. After a conversation he said, " If I 
were well enough I would be glad to join your 
church." I replied, " I should be only too glad to 
welcome you." He looked at me in surprise and 
then said, " But you do not know what I believe." 
" That," I replied, " is not my business. You 
think earnestly about the Unseen, and you want 
to serve man, and that is all we desire." 

We continued to grow, and before long we had 
an attractive church building, the erection of 
which makes a story by itself. 

The numbers now began to increase rather 
more quickly, but unfortunately the very increase 
presented me with a problem. The enlarged 
work required more attention and time, and those 
I could not give and also be on the ranch, so it be- 
gan to be asked if I could not give up the ranch. 

On the ranch there was a certain amount of 
freedom. I was not a minister when I was there. 
I was a farmer and could meet my neighbors on 
that basis. I was earning in part my own living 
and I had always had a longing to earn it by other 
means than preaching. Like Paul I did not want 

[93] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



to be dependent, and after twenty years I was 
approaching that position. I had to acknowl- 
edge, however, that I could not do the work that 
was necessary in the city church and also the 
work that was equally necessary on the farm. 

What should I do? Another of my dreams 
was in danger. Should I forego the liberty of 
the ranch, or should I give up the work of the 
church? It had been a great privilege to look 
on church work from the outside. Should I again 
be right within? 

For twelve months I debated the question, and 
finally decided to sell the ranch. I went to live 
in the city, and once more became completely a 
minister. 

Now I often look back to those days on the 
ranch. They were not easy, by any means, nor 
were they all pleasant; they were certainly not 
times of overflowing wealth ; but at any rate they 
were untrammelled, none having any right to 
question me about my opinions. 



[94] 



CHAPTER VIII 



ENTERING THE UNITARIAN FELLOWSHIP: 



THE JOURNEY THUS FAR 




FTER five years, I went back into the sole 



JTjL. work of the ministry. Now, having a 
whole minister, the church gave itself with greater 
zeal to wide activity. Our first thought was of 
publicity. We were sure that there was a con- 
stituency for us, for we knew that there were 
many not touched by the more orthodox churches. 
We were like a tradesman having goods for sale 
but unable to let the public know, owing to the 
store's being off the main business street. How 
could we modestly and effectively let the people 
know what we had to offer? 

We called in several advertising experts for ad- 
vice. We felt that the usual methods of church 
advertising were not satisfactory. We saw little 
in such appeals as " Come. All are welcome. 
All seats free." We knew that we were not un- 



[95] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



derstood, and we wanted some way in which to 
let the public know just what to expect if they 
visited us. Then we were very anxious not 
even to appear to be in competition with other 
churches, for they had their work to do as we 
had ours. Our idea was to give, as it were, a 
sample of the teaching, and, without any invita- 
tion, to interest the readers and make them feel 
unconsciously that they would like to hear more 
on the lines that they had read. 

At last we decided to insert in the paper a 
short article three days a week and leave it to do 
its work. It was an expensive business, but we 
felt that it might pay. For two years we never 
missed this thrice-weekly article, and it was cer- 
tainly a hard task for the minister to supply 
them. The three took more work than the weekly 
sermon. The reproductions on the opposite page 
are types of the rest. 

It is difficult, of course, to say about advertis- 
ing what results are obtained, but one or two 
results were surely gained. The articles were 
read, for we heard of them from far-off places in 
the Southwest. Often men would stop me in the 
street to say something about a previous writing, 
and it was extremely interesting to notice what 

[96] 



w 

S3 

o 

W 

w 

02 

02 
O 

H 
EH 

O 

H 



03 O +=> ! 

H tl ^ 



S O d + 

03 O ^ 

©iB* « 

£ 3 c 
£X > e 



ph a 



,2 03 CO CO 
• CO CO 



o c3 © 
L3^Q 0J ( 



> 03 2 p 
d 2- ° 3 
„ o o £ 



S O co ' 
uSo t ©j 

©-r.^1 



i 03 Pi 03 



- d •*+ b£ 
©jd ^3 ~_ 

co - gj cu 



hI 
O 

M 
EH 

< M 

CD W 

o o 
o 

Eh 

02 
P3 



.b^.^cEH dO g FH 

so s a 



i W J> 03 O 

1.2 g =3 £0 



O 

02 

525 
5^ 

"3 02 

£ W 

Hi 

.s i 



co 



c3 © 



hi 



USA©© 

3 § ° ^ 

2* 2 £ 

3 03 .5 ~ 

r2 ©5 

h ^ £ « * 
-5 © 03 

- *3| 
S rt ® s 

§ a .2 



bl c3 

.a * 

o t3 

©rtf CO 
03 3 © 03 



^,2 = 



? 2 



o d XT" © 



•£ c3 " 



* a go r 



fe. CO O 

CO^ 
s CO 



5 O 

.a £ 



<! 

o 

M 
EH 

< 

W W d 

S « fi 

Sop 

H Jz; H 
o o 
o 

Eh 

02 
Ph 



© 5 



MS 

O 

o2 



Xn3 

^ d 

^ c3 



Fh 

o 

Ph 

02 
< 
Hi 



bX © 



03 03 . 



03 ; 



© d 
o 



c5 i: , 



c3 g ^ 
Si 03 ^ 



^ c.S © © 

£ d 5 'S,^ 1 -- 1 

h & © . 

^ C3 © ^ 



© 5lZ 



^ a M ^ ¥ 



o 3 



i ^ 03 

3 §| 



g © eg 

d j3 • 03 

03 03 P S rd 



n3 



d 

a^ S 1 



•h 03 

2 >^ 03 

13 Xzjj 

3 J © 

« PQ 

03 



3 ^-S «S 

O d-« esO 

03 03 ^ 



? > U ! 
3 S : 



o Eh d g M § 
s © 2 di d 

^ P-'Za I— I rd eg 



rj 03 C3 ( 



^ © 

• H Og ^ 
^ 03 =3 d'S 
— 00 ^ 

frills 



Hi 

<1 

o 

HI 
EH 

O W 
W W S 

H I? w 
c o 
o 

EH 

02 



THE UNITARIAN FELLOWSHIP 



had struck the reader. I was often surprised, 
for things had appealed to certain men that I 
should have thought were far from being interest- 
ing to them. I certainly discovered that men 
were open to quite unexpected appeal. Once a 
man whom I knew to be a too frequent attendant 
at saloons stopped me and said how much he 
agreed with an article on temperance. At an- 
other time, a noisy politician said how much an 
article on quiet retirement called to him. Yes, 
the words were read. 

Then the issues stopped misrepresentation. 
Probably no man in the town had had more 
charges made against him than I had. These 
charges now stopped, for when the readers read 
what I thought, it was useless to say that I 
thought something quite different. 

Altogether we were satisfied with the results of 
our advertising. 

My first congregation consisted of nine per- 
sons, four of whom were personal friends. After 
five or six weeks we moved into a small store and 
our numbers increased to about sixty. Then in 
the theatre we reached numbers that varied 
greatly, as was to be expected in such a meet- 
ing-place. On some Sundays we had two 

[97] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



hundred, and on others we had not more than one 
hundred and twenty. 

When finally we reached our own church build- 
ings, we settled down to an average of sixty. 
This number prevailed for some time. Then, as a 
result of the advertising, we began to grow. 

After my removal to town and the giving of 
my whole time to church work, progress became 
very apparent. The numbers gradually pro- 
gressed to one hundred and then at times to one 
hundred and fifty. Once or twice our whole 
seating capacity was exceeded, and during 
the last year we borrowed chairs from neighbor- 
ing houses to accommodate two hundred and up- 
ward. 

About this time, several worshippers said to 
me: "You have said this morning just what I 
have been thinking for some time but have never 
heard openly expressed. How did you come to 
think thus, and what changes did you pass 
through before you reached where you now are? 99 
This is the story I have been telling in these chap- 
ters. 

One of the most active workers in the church 
was a lady who was an expert stenographer. 
Sunday by Sunday she took my sermons verbatim, 

[98] 



THE UNITARIAN FELLOWSHIP 



and when she had collected sufficient to form a 
volume, she said that they must be published. I 
objected, as I did not regard them of such im- 
portance as to warrant such a step. She in- 
sisted, and finally a number of copies were sub- 
scribed for which insured against serious loss. 
The book, " The Power Behind," appeared, and 
over four hundred copies were quickly sold in 
El Paso alone. 

This book was destined to introduce another 
change in my life. The National Guard came to 
El Paso, one of the chaplains of which being Rev. 
Murray W. Dewart of Winchester, Mass. One 
day he picked up a copy of the book in a dentist's 
waiting-room, became interested, and finally 
sought an introduction. From this friendship 
Mr. Dewart mentioned me and sent a copy of the 
book to friends of his in Roxbury, Mass. From 
this came the invitation to the First Church. 

Theologically, the change to a Unitarian 
church was not great. Without regard to Uni- 
tarianism or Trinitarianism I had thought out my 
position as regards Jesus. I had put aside the 
peculiarly miraculous in the birth of Jesus ; I re- 
garded iiim as man's supreme leader, a person- 
ality unique in the things of the spirit. I looked 

[99] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



to him as a guide Godward pointing to the wor- 
ship of the One God. 

Thus when the request came to take a Uni- 
tarian pulpit, there was no special theological re- 
consideration needed. That work was over. I 
cannot but say that I see little difference between 
a liberal Congregationalist and a Unitarian ; and, 
at least from what I know of Congregationalism 
in England, I see no barrier in the way of a New 
England Unitarian taking a liberal Congrega- 
tional church. 

I have had a fair share of outer movement, — 
an orthodox home; my youth in a very orthodox 
church ; at college and university ; pastorates in 
two large English cities ; five years of farming 
on the fringe of the Southwestern desert of the 
United States ; a ministry in a new thriving 
border city; and now as I write these closing 
words, pastor of one of the six oldest churches in 
New England. 

Thirty years have come and gone. In them I 
have tried to think, tried to solve some of the rid- 
dles of life, and tried, as faithfully as I have been 
able, to be of some little service to the circle of 
life in which I have been placed. Outwardly, the 
results must speak for themselves. What we 

[100] 



THE UNITARIAN FELLOWSHIP 



have done leaves its mark which no power above 
or below can ever change. 

Inwardly, I have been driven toward the recog- 
nition of fewer and fewer essentials. My articles 
do not now number thirty-nine. In my various 
removals I have left at each change some things 
behind that I once deemed very valuable. When 
I left England, I left very much behind with many 
regrets, for it is hard to discard things that have 
become hallowed by association. When I left the 
ranch, I left other precious things behind, and 
when I left the West many more possessions had 
to be sacrificed. It seems that almost the same 
process of giving up goes on in the mind. 

But the things that remain are the bed-rock of 
my life. Wherever I am, I feel myself in the 
presence of some great and mysterious Power. 
When I look up to the stars, I feel awed by that 
Something behind, and when I look at the desert, 
I feel the mystic touch of some great finger ; flow- 
ers, earth, man, insect, all things throb with some 
strange movement. When I try to explain the 
source of that wondrous thrilling, I am almost 
dumb, and feel it best to bow my head in silent 
reverence. I do not understand. I cannot de- 
fine, but I feel myself wrapped about with Divin- 

[101] 



OUT OF OLD PATHS 



ity. The design of the Great Power I cannot 
read, but I feel that the move of life must be up- 
ward. The new allures, the old clings to us ; 
hence the pain of life. There are no pangs of 
departure for those who never move. But life is 
movement, hence life has many pangs. There are 
ever new births, therefore there are ever the 
throes that accompany birth. Sin is to me the 
clinging to the old, and sorrow is the snapping of 
the ties that must occur when the old and the 
new must needs part. The terrible world-trag- 
edy, the Great War, is an instance of an eternal 
warfare. New life is beckoning to the world, and 
the old order is madly striving to retain its grip. 

Within, I hear the call of the spirit. I love in 
silence to try to unravel its message, and I wish 
ever to hear what men have said the call meant to 
them. 

Away in North Yorkshire is a valley. Close 
by the river is an old gray church. On the lower 
slopes are stretches of green dotted with flowers, 
and towering over all are heights of bare rock 
scarred with the scraping of the ice-floes of by- 
gone ages. Life is like that valley. There is 
the church, which I make broad enough to in- 
clude all men's attempts to explain the Unseen; 

[102] 



THE UNITARIAN FELLOWSHIP 



there are the flowers of men's lives; and above all 
are the scars of the great tragic changes of life. 

I cannot but think that the whole of life is as 
beautiful as the picturesque valley, but just now I 
miss the beauty because my eyes are fixed on the 
wounds made by the grinding of strife. Some 
day the scars will take their due place in the land- 
scape of life. 

The future? I do not know. I may believe as 
I do now, or I may not. Once more I may have 
to leave behind much that I now prize. So be it. 
But whatever changes may come to me I hope 
that I may try to do justly, love mercy, and walk 
humbly before the Unseen. 



[103] 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: May 2006 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 



